An Injured Soul
by CheeryEmo
Summary: All of the criticism had finally caught up with America. The only thing America wants to do now is improve himself. He just wants to be accepted by his peers, but what will America do in order to reach this goal?
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: This story contains self harm, anorexia, bulimia, and self image problems. I'm deeply sorry if this offends anyone, it's not my intention to be offensive. Also, I might be terrible at writing. I'm not very experienced with fanfictions, so there might be some ooc or plot holes here and there.**

 **Hetalia and all of it's characters do not belong to me, and never will.**

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The world meeting wasn't exactly pleasant, but that was to be expected. For America could always foresee the constant ridicule the the other nations forced upon him. _They probably should keep reminding me of how worthless I am, I deserve it._ A sly tear had managed to escape from the corner of America's eye. Once again, his inner critic was ripping at his already deteriorating confidence. _I should've known better than to express my stupid ideas. I can't believe how much of an idiot I am._

America had been drowning in self hatred for a few years now, and it was only becoming much worse. The depression had eventually become so terrible that the miserable nation was beginning to fall victim to hopelessness, a feeling the young nation had never experienced before. He missed not knowing what despair was. The despair was dreadful, and had to of been the heaviest, most painful burden of his life.

 _I put England in so much pain when I became independent, and I was too selfish to care. I was selfish enough to cause so many problems when I tried to be the hero. I'm no hero, I'm just an incompetent waste of space._ The thought stung, even though it had occurred to him many times. A choked up sob escaped the nation's throat, as the harsh words echoed through his head.

After a long while of non-stop crying, America began to shiver. Wrapping a blanket around himself, and mumbled inaudibly, "Why must reality be so cold?"

After a few more moments, America whipped the blanket off and thought with urgency _I need to drain all of this pain out!_ In a frenzy, he opened his closet to grab a small box, and dashed to the bathroom. Even though he was home alone, America still locked the door to the bathroom. It was just a natural habit he possessed, in case he had a visitor.

Slowly, America approached the sink as he glared at the mirror. He abhorred his own reflection. Every single cell that was present in order to show his reflection, unwanted, hated, despised. By no other than their very owner. As much as America had wanted to break the mirror, he instead took the anger out on himself. When he opened the box to take out the knife that was inside, he was finally able to start the session.

First he stared at the glinting of the blade, before slowly dragging the razor sharp edge lightly across his skin, but of course, not too lightly. Not light enough to stop the crimson blood from slowly dripping out. The never ending flow of tears that had threatened to pour out went away as soon as the pain from the self inflicted gash prickled on his arm. Compared to the emotional distress, the physical agony had felt so pleasant to the nation. The feeling was so addictive, he wanted to cut again. Again and again, until his arms were once more, littered with blood. While he savored the delightful feeling, he continued to absent mindedly draw blood into his skin.

The cuts became deeper, and deeper, until the procedure had finally been complete. America looked down at the progress he had made on his arm, deeply satisfied that all of his emotional agony was relieved from simply bleeding. _I had only been doing this for a few months, and I'm already comfortable with it._ America was aware that many people were against self harm, even he was against it, at least he had been in the past. _But now I understand why people do it, I was just inexperienced._

Then America realized how exhausted he was. Since he was eager to sleep, he washed off the knife in the bathroom sink without delay. Usually he'd stare at what beauty he saw in his beloved blade for long periods of time, but now he wasn't in the mood. After drying the knife off with a quick wipe of a towel, he put it back in the box and dashed back to his bedroom, despite how tired he was.

After making sure that the box with the knife in it was in a well hidden corner of his crowded closet, America burrowed under the blankets of his bed. Eyes now closed, America thought to himself _It's too bad_ _I'm not a human, maybe if I was, I would be able to get rid of myself with some deep cuts._ At first, he frowned at the thought, but then the smile returned _at least I am still able to feel the pain from my cuts at all._

He laid there for an hour, most of his thoughts were neutral, mostly there in order to entertain himself. Before he had drifted off into a light sleep, he snapped awake when he realized that there was going to be another world meeting the next morning. _Another stupid meeting just to get ripped on! Maybe I shouldn't go!_ With an annoyed sigh, he spoke aloud, "But I know I'm going to have to, whether I want to or not."

America looked at the clock in his room, and produced an annoyed grunt when he saw that it read two thirty-five in the morning. He scowled, "Great, not only am I going to be reminded of my incompetents, but I'm also going to have to force myself to stay awake in an exhausted state!"

The nation was not a fan of forcing himself awake. Sure, he could drink coffee, but America had put himself on a strict diet, and that meant that coffee was entirely out of the question. Sighing once again, America removed his glasses before he would forget to do so when he fell asleep a second time, and set them next to his clock. Curling up into a more comfortable position on his bed, he closed his eyes and mumbled to himself before falling into a deep sleep, "Maybe some light exercise will help me stay awake in the morning."

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 **Please review and tell me what you guys thought. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, it appears that I've updated this sooner than I thought I would've. That doesn't mean I'm always going to update this frequently. Also, I'm trying to make the chapters in this story longer, knowing me I have a terrible tendency to write short chapters, and much too short stories overall.**

 **Reviews would be nice. :)**

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America awoke with an annoyed hiss as his alarm clock rang out with multiple beeps. At first, the exhausted nation tried to drown out the noise by covering his ears with his pillow. To no avail of course, as the alarm continued to taunt the tired nation with it's exasperating sound. America had eventually remembered his morning routine, and immediately turned off the alarm. As he slid out of bed, he checked the clock to see what time it was. Putting on his glasses, he read the clock, noting that it was currently six thirty-two in the morning. The world meeting he had to attend would start at ten. _Okay, so that leaves me about three and a half hours to prepare for this meeting, might as well start my light morning exercises._

Light was not the right word for what exercise America had in mind. Every morning, he would make himself perform two hundred push ups, one hundred sit ups, one hundred fifty lunges, one hundred pull ups, and then spend about one whole hour running on his treadmill at the rate of ten miles an hour. That was only for the morning, of course, there were more procedures of more intense exercise involved in his regular schedule throughout the day. America would no longer include the calories he burned from his morning exercises into his total number of calories burned. Since he feared the possibility of awarding himself for more than he actually achieved. To sum it all up, he just wanted to make sure that he was burning a decent amount of calories.

After America was finished with his inhumane morning exercise, he walked unto the scale to see if he had lost any weight. He was very despondent when the scale decided to land on one hundred thirty-eight and a half pounds. America glared at his watch, which was now starting to become loose on his wrist. It was now eight twenty-seven, and America hadn't even prepared himself for the meeting. Sighing, he grumbled to himself, "Well, I guess since there's not enough time to exercise any longer this morning, I'll just go take a shower. Breakfast is definitely out of the question."

The morning routine had continued, America had become distracted as he pinch at the fat on his body, wishing he could just get rid of all of it. Despite the distraction, America was able to finish up his preparation for the meeting in less than a half of an hour. The meeting would be taking place in his country, just like it had the day before, and America much preferred having it in his country. After all, he was obsessed with weighing himself on a scale, and what hotel provided weight scales?

Unlike the day before, America was able to make it to the meeting rather early. Instead of arriving late as he usually would, or use to. A few other nations were already there in the meeting room, but the atmosphere was almost dead silent. The only sound being heard was that of rustling papers from nations who were preparing paper for their notes. That is, if they were to pick up on anything useful at all.

Eventually, everyone else who was to attend the meeting had filed in. By the time everyone was staring expectantly at America, he began in a voice much quieter voice than usual, "So I would like to discuss more ways on how we can combat global warming. I thought that-"

England yelled with annoyance, "Speak up! No one can hear you when you mumble!"

America repeated himself in a more emphatic voice, but it was still nothing compared to how he would usually speak during these meetings, "I would like to discuss ways on how we can combat global warming! I-"

Of course he was interrupted once again. This time by France, who sighed, "You've been coming up with ridiculous plans for this same topic for a long time. How can this one be any better?"

Germany, the only nation who ever seemed to care about world meetings demanded in a harsh tone, "Just let him continue already!"

It didn't matter anymore if Germany tried to control the meeting or not at that point. What France had told America shattered all of his remaining confidence. Not only did America give up on his plan at that point, but when he tried to speak up in order to inform the other nations about his change of mind, he found that his voice wouldn't work correctly.

England was losing what little patience he had to begin with as he asked, "Well?"

After a long pause, America's voice returned, but what he said added to how pathetic the tone of his voice was, "Nevermind, the plan was stupid anyways."

Every nation in the board room began to yell at America angrily. Mostly complaints about how he had set up a pointless meeting. Then there was a riot. It was as if everyone in the room had forgotten about the inconvenience of the current meeting as they began to fight each other over what ever annoyed them about the other person. Some verbal wars becoming dangerously close to physical, or so it seemed. Greece slept through all of the yelling, typical.

By the time the fighting was on the verge of becoming too out of control to handle, Germany didn't seem to lose faith in the meeting, as he yelled out in his ever strong voice, "Enough! Zhe meeting only just started and everyone's already trying to rip at each ozhers throats! Now if anyone has anyzhing helpful to say about zhis topic, zhen raise you hand!"

Immediately, everyone was back in their assigned seats. The room was silent once more. As the meeting continued to drag on America began to grow more and more drowsy. Yes, the meetings were boring, and it was difficult for many nations to pay attention during them, but that was not the reason for America's drowsiness. As far as he knew, it was just the fact that he had hardly slept the night before, and now it was starting to catch up to him. The anger he had once held for staying up so late turned into dread as knew that he would have to sit through more boring speeches. Ones from nations that had probably prepared for America's plans based on past experience.

America didn't even realize it, but he was already dozing off, but not for long. The voice of France had abruptly awoken him, "Debout, you fat American! Every nation here has been trying to ask you if we could have a lunch break!"

The insult had stung America deeply, but his voice had shone no hurt as he replied tiredly, "Sure, you can all have a lunch break. Just make sure to return in an hour."

At first many nations gave America a confused glance, after all, an hour was quite a long time for a lunch break. Pretty soon however, they all shrugged it off, deciding not to question such a rare occasion during these tedious meetings. All America wanted to do was catch up on some sleep, therefore he put his head down in arms on the table, letting himself drift. Of course, his perfect opportunity to take a nap was interrupted as he heard someone ask, "Aren't you hungry at all?"

Arduously, America lifted his head to see who had disturbed his sleep, only to see that it had been England. The island nation seemed to be looking at him with slight concern. America shook his head, and then buried his face back into what ever warmth and padding his slender arms could provide. Instead of leaving him alone as America had hoped, England asked, failing to conceal the worry in his voice, "Alfred, are you feeling okay? You've been acting out of character lately."

America quickly lifted up his head, causing the world around him to spin for a moment, but if it was for the act, America decided that he had no choice. He plastered a fake smile across his face. The typical smile he usually produced that seemed exaggerated to other nations. Despite all of the negative thoughts America possessed, he tried his best to sound delighted, "I'm just fine! No need to worry about it."

Being over a thousand years old, England had enough experience to see past the simple act, but decided to make no comment. Instead he suggested, "Well, I think you should at least eat something."

Shaking his head, America replied, "Nah, I'm good."

England was losing his patience, grabbing a burnt scone he demanded, "At least eat this."

Giving the scone a look of disgust, America protested, "I'm not eating that!"

Unfortunately, England only shoved the scone closer to America, "Eat it."

 _Well, all food is disgusting anyways, so this scone is no different._ America thought as he sighed in defeat and grabbed the scone. Before taking his first bite, America retrieved his water bottle (one that could hold about thirty-two ounces) and drank about half the water inside it before reluctantly taking his first bite. Every now and then between his slow, meager nibbles, America would continue to take sips of his water, until he had finished half of the scone. He set the scone down, and drank the rest of the water in his water bottle. Then he stood up in order to leave for the bathroom, however, he was interrupted as England asked, "Where are you going?"

America replied quickly, "I just need to use the bathroom."

Just as America began to dash off, England called after him, "Aren't you going to eat the rest of that scone?"

Before exiting the room, America called back, "No thanks."

As soon as America entered the bathroom, he made sure that the door was locked behind him before walking over to the toilet. America knelled down in front of the toilet, his stomach was uncomfortably full from all of the water he had drank, but that was not the reason for all the tension he was currently feeling. It was mostly because he was still nervous about making himself throw up. After all, it was a new thing he had been trying out only a week ago, and was not used to doing such a thing. Slowly, America put his finger down his throat until he started to gag. Nothing came out on the first attempt, so he tried again.

He continued to retch more and more, until finally, he had successfully managed to vomit. The process continued, until nothing would come out of the nation's now empty stomach. Fortunately for him, none of the vomit had splattered anywhere, except for in the toilet, and on his hand of course. Therefore, he wouldn't have to worry about cleaning up a huge mess. Using the hand that had no vomit on it, he flushed the toilet and turned on the faucet to the sink in order to wash his hands.

Meanwhile, without the American's knowledge, England was outside the bathroom door. He had decided to try and figure out if America was sick this way, and was certainly concerned to hear him retch and vomit. The island nation had no idea what was going on with his former colony, but his instinct told him that there was definitely something harming the young nation. Maybe England would never admit the motherly bond he had for America, but none the less, his parenting instincts were beginning to kick in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Another Warning: I forgot to mention this before, but suicide is a topic in this story. Just thought I'd warn you guys, since this is a touchy subject.**

 **Also, the attention this story has been getting certainly makes me feel elated. Not that I wasn't a happy person before. All of your reviews really encourage me to write more. When I was at school, I was just itching to write the next chapter of this story. :)**

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A week had passed since the last world meeting, and in that time, much had changed in America's schedule. For one, instead of exercising three times a day, he had increased the number to four. Sometimes even five. At least, he would exercise five times on a 'good' day. Of course, there was a catch. Just because he would exercise more often on a 'good' day, did not necessarily mean that the exercise would be lighter. If anything, it would become more intense, and it was all just for the sake increasing his faltering metabolism.

Another thing that had changed was his meals. Before he had allowed himself at least one to two diminutive meals a day. Now however, he had limited himself to only eating an undersized snack every two days. The snack would never be something more than an apple, in fact, America was beginning to consider an apple much too large. Not that he had ever actually eaten one of the red fruits whole. That would've been a taboo according to his new policy.

The lack of food had only made exercise much more challenging for the deprived nation. Whether America was aware of this or not didn't seem to matter, after all, he was trying to teach himself to become more 'disciplined'. If that meant to only eat forty calories every two days and wake up every morning to do what was now four hundred sit ups, two hundred push ups, three hundred lunges,and two hundred pull ups, and to run on the treadmill at five and a half miles per hour for one and half hours non stop, then so be it. It was truly a wonder that the now delicate nation was even able to walk in a straight line in the during the day. Then again, how much longer can his body hold out?

It was now ten seventeen in the morning, and America had finally finished his first round of exercises. Now it was time to see how much he weighed after a week of progress. When he stepped on the scale, the numbers faded from one hundred thirty eight and a half, to one hundred twenty five. Thirteen and a half pounds. In just one week. However, the accomplishment was not enough to satisfy America's exaggerated yearning for slimming up, and all he wanted to lose more weight. He wanted the pounds to continue to fall off until he was at least one hundred pounds. It had never mattered to America if he were to die in the process, oh no, his health was now nothing to him. He no longer cared about dying, in a way, he was beginning to welcome death. Nothing seemed more peaceful to him than to float in a black void of nothingness. Never to hear another insult, never to see his 'ugly' body in the mirror, and most importantly, never to think about any of his troubles. There were no thoughts in death, there was no inner critic. At least, that was what America believed. Sometimes he wondered whether he would find out if his beliefs on death were true.

His despondent thoughts were interrupted when he heard a knock on the front door. America thought with vexation _who could possibly want to come to my house? There's literally no reason to!_ Before carelessly answering the front door, America was sure to find a jacket in order to conceal the scars on his arms. He was wearing a t-shirt, after all. The house was beginning to feel chilly to America, so really, the jacket served more of a purpose than it intentionally would have in the first place. It certainly allowed America to come up with a simple excuse without having to lie. He abhorred the intense feeling lying gave him.

For some odd reason to America, dashing to the front door had become more of a chore. By the time he had made the short distance he had already felt winded. His heart fluttered painfully in his chest, but he ignored all of the pain he was feeling. He had to quickly make an act for whoever had knocked on his door, he had to seem healthy and perky. There was more knocking on the door when America had finally caught his breath. It seemed to have become more persistent. Quickly, America opened the door to see England.

Shifting uneasily, America asked with confusion, "What are you still doing in my country? The world meeting was a week ago. Don't you have things to do in your own land?"

England replied, "It is your birthday today. I just thought it would be nice to drop by and wish you a happy birthday."

 _Oh right, it's my birthday. I had completely forgotten about that._ Usually America would've been excited to know that it was his birthday, at least in the past, but the days of carelessness were over for him. _Unless this day can cure all of my imperfections, it's just a normal day with a pointless title to me._

America still had the decency to be polite, despite the fact that he couldn't care less about his birthday, "Well thank you for your consideration, it's much appreciated. You really didn't have to waste your time on me like this, today really isn't that special."

Once again, the island nation was able to seek a glimpse past the fake mask a happiness that America had yet again, plastered on his face. Maybe England wasn't able to read America's direct thoughts, but he knew that _something_ was on his former colony's mind. England shook his head a little and stated, "I know something's wrong. Can you please tell me what's bothering you?"

America narrowed his eyes in annoyance, _Oh no! He's trying get in the way of my lifestyle isn't he? Trying to give me false advice that will only make me worse off in the long run. He needs to go!_ Then, he came up with the perfect comeback, "By the way, aren't you suppose to be overly depressed or something during this time? I mean after all, this is the anniversary of when I gained my independence from you."

Immediately, America felt guilty when he saw England tense up. The fact that it looked as if England was trying to hold back tears didn't help at all. Soon however, it seemed that the island nation was able to control himself once again as he explained, "I've been trying to get over that. I just want to mend our relationship, that's all. Is there something wrong with doing so?"

"Sorry," America replied, culpability flashed in his voice. Quickly, he came up with something in hopes to lighten the mood, "If you want, we could watch the fireworks tonight."

England nodded his head at the offer.

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America and England had just finished watching the fireworks. Even though America was wearing three layers, he still had felt a quite chilly throughout the entire event, and his face certainly didn't receive a break from the harsh cold. Therefore, America did not enjoy the fireworks. To make matters worse, America had reluctantly allowed England to stay at his house for a few nights, _why in the world did I agree to that? It's not like the Brit's company is necessary at the moment. I have more important things to do than tend to a guest._

Just when America had opened the door to his house, one of his sleeves decided to be rebellious and slide down. America did not notice the sleeve go down, however, England noticed more than just his arm. The street light allowed the island nation to see the beginnings of a few scars and scabs. America flinched and whipped his head towards England as he felt his former mentor roll up his sleeve. Quickly, America forced his arm out of England's grasp, and he immediately rolled his sleeves down to cover up his scars.

Unfortunately, it was too late, for England had enough time and evidence to know that America's arms were littered with scars. America scowled at the worried look England gave him. England ignored the hostility and asked, "Alfred, where did you get all of those scars?"

"I had to fight off some feral dogs." It was a lousy excuse, but it was the only thing that America could come up with in the short-lived time he had to reply. He thought it had been worth the shot. Casually, America changed the topic, his voice still contained a slight glower, "Anyways, I'm getting tired, so I'm going to bed now."

As America began to dash off, England quickly remembered something, and tried to call out after him, "Wait! You haven't eaten anything during the afternoon or evening!"

There was no response from America, he was already gone up the stairs, and it didn't seem likely that he would respond. England glanced down at the floor and muttered to himself, "I should really investigate what's going on with Alfred."

Then England flinched as a dark thought hit him, his voice was still low, "Bloody hell! What if he ends up killing himself!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, this was definitely the most exciting chapter I have written so far. It feels like each chapter of this story becomes more exciting to write.**

 **It's kind of short, but oh well.**

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America was in the middle of doing some sit-ups in his bedroom when he heard a knock on his door. He grunted with annoyance _why can't he just leave me alone?_ He was still wearing his long sleeved jacket in order to cover up his arms, so he didn't have to worry about hiding his scars in the most awkward, and suspicious way. The moment he had opened the door, England asked in a firm voice, "I know you're not telling me the truth."

Stubbornly, America decided to play dumb, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Fear was present in England's eyes as he growled, "You really think I believed you were fighting off a bunch of feral dogs!? It's all rubbish! No dog bite looks like multiple straight cuts!"

 _No! He can't find out!_ America thought with panic, beginning to feel extremely queasy. Somehow, he was able to mask all of those negative emotions as he continued to object, "I told you it was a few dog bites, whether you want to believe so or not. It is what it is!"

England quickly realized that the argument was only stalling his investigation, so he decided to bring out some more ammo to use against America's denial, in hopes that the words would hit the younger nation right in the spot, "I would also like to know why there's only a few morsels of food in your kitchen."

America glared at England, speaking in a monotone, "Because tomorrow is grocery day."

England shook his head, "Not only are you cutting yourself, but you're starving yourself as well! You need to stop this!"

Tears blurred America's vision, he yelled out, "I'M NOT ANOREXIC! I'M NOT CUTTING MYSELF! Then his voice lowered to a weak whimper, "I just wish you'd leave me alone."

The island nation pulled America into a light hug. All of the previous anger in his voice was now gone, replaced by a much more soft tone, "A lot of people care about you Alfred. You shouldn't be ashamed of yourself."

America forced himself out of the hug, "But there's so much to be ashamed of."

England tried his best to be reassuring, "Look, I'm willing to help you out of this depression. I'm willing to help you break the habit. I just really hate seeing you hurt yourself."

Shaking his head, America mumbled, "I just want to die."

"Alfred!" England yelled out in panic, but America continued, "I just want to die and end all of this misery. I'm sick to being a burden to everyone. You must hate me for everything I've done to you. I don't blame you, how can anyone forgive someone as ungrateful as me?"

Feeling weak, England replied, "A-alfred, none of that's true. I would be devastated if you died."

"No you wouldn't." More tears fell from America's eyes as he walked over to his closet, "I stole so much from you, but the worst I had done was crush your pride. Just for my own selfish intentions."

America opened the closet door, digging through to the darkest corner where he hid the box containing his knife. He opened up the box to take out the knife and added, "Now it is time for me to give back what's rightfully yours."

At first England was too shocked to move. His former colony was holding a knife for crying out loud! The shock didn't last for long when America lifted the knife up to his neck, as if he was about to slit his own throat. As soon as the self destruction was about to take place, England snapped out of his shock, and

immediately charged at America while crying out, "NO!"

Before America could actually go through with killing himself, England managed to grab the knife out of America's hand and throw it out of his reach. America had tried to retrieve it, but was stopped as England held him back. America struggled frantically, panic gripped at his heart. He had be so close, so close to ending it all. To finally being at peace, and it was the only time he had the bravery to make such an attempt.

"Alfred, calm down!" England told the nation who was now hyperventilating. England's voice seemed to snap him out of his thoughts, but he was still having a panic attack none the less. Lowering his voice, England advised, "Come on, you need to slow down your breathing. You're going to pass out if you keep hyperventilating like that."

America obeyed, trying his best to take deep breaths. Eventually, he was breathing at a more reasonable paste. England held America in a less restraining way, and stroked his hair in encouragement as he said in a soothing voice, "That's it, just focus on your breathing."

Eventually, England had both himself and America sit down on the bed. He figured that America was exhausted, and it would be best for him to rest. England had started rubbing circles around America's back, his former colony still seemed quite tense. England continued speaking in his soft voice, "It's going to be okay. Things will be better, I promise."

Fresh tears formed in America's eyes as he retorted, "Why couldn't you just let me die? I was so close."

"Shh." England hugged America and soothed, "Don't say such things."

America was beginning to feel drowsy from all of the crying, and England felt so warm to his body, which currently seemed to lack basic heat retention. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so comfortable, and with all of the strain he had put on himself lately, it only made this moment feel so much better. Eventually, America had fallen asleep in England's arms.


	5. Chapter 5

**Again, I would like to thank everyone who read this story, followed, added it to their favorites, and left a review. You guys are all awesome. :)**

 **I'm happy with the direction this story is going in so far, even though I have completely revised the plot from something quite different from what it was originally going to be. This seems to happen with a lot of my stories, but oh well.**

 **Anyways, a review is always nice. (I bring reviews up way too much)**

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It had become England's main focus to help America through his mental illness. First thing was first, he had removed all of the sharp objects from America's room, and some that happened to be laying around his house. He had also made it his job to watch America and make sure that he didn't do anything to harm himself further. England knew that America would not necessarily enjoy the healing process, and he hated the idea of disrupting his former colony's privacy. Unfortunately, he knew it was for the best, it was just the way things would have to be for a while.

Sunlight leaked it's way through the closed curtains of America's room, announcing the arrival of dawn. England was relieved to know that he had awoken before America, it had given him time to prepare himself for the day, and take care of all the safety hazards that America might use against himself. Not only that, but he was a slightly embarrassed about falling asleep while holding America, and it was inimical enough to him that it had happened in the first place. There was no need for America to find out.

England sat down next to America's bed, reading a book as he waited for the younger nation to wake up. He'd been waiting for nearly an hour when America finally began to stir. England set down his book and observed America as he began to sit up, he noticed that the nation seemed to be very groggy. He informed America, "If you're still tired, you can go back to sleep."

America suddenly shook his head violently, "No, that would make me weak. I want to stay awake."

England replied with a hum of sympathy, "You had a rough night. Anyone would understand if you slept in a little. Besides, your body must be strained from all of the intense work you put upon it, so really, more rest is ideal."

Those words didn't seem to help America as he replied, "Sleeping in would be a lack of discipline. A lack of discipline would mean that I'm lazy. And people who are lazy become fat, and I'm already thirty pounds too fat."

"You're not fat," England explained, "In fact, I'd say you're becoming too thin. Perhaps the reason you're tired is because you need to eat something."

"Oh no," America tried to deny, "The reason why I'm tired is because I need to exercise. If I don't start moving my body fat will get in the way of everything and make me more lazy."

England replied firmly, "You are not to exercise unless you eat a decent breakfast."

America was beginning to get irritated, "Why not?"

"Because it's dangerous." England explained, "You should never skip breakfast to begin with, but if you don't eat anything at all during the day before you exercise, you could end up passing out."

When America didn't answer, England changed the subject, "By the way, I'm going to bring you with me to buy some groceries as soon as you're ready, and that includes eating something for breakfast."

America scowled, "I don't want to walk around a store full of disgusting toxins!"

England replied, "Starving yourself injures your organs more than these 'toxins' will." he sat up and added, "Besides, you'll be walking around a bit, that should get some blood flowing."

"Fine," America replied in defeat, as he weakly climbed out of bed. He used the wall for support as he gathered up some cloths and a towel in order to take a shower. England noticed how weak America seemed to be and asked with slight concern, "Do you need any help?"

America growled, "I'm going to be fine! Now stop pestering me."

England waited outside of the door to the bathroom, listening in case America tried to do anything aside from getting ready. He had made it forbidden for America to lock the door. Of course, America had tried to go around this a few times, but it had resulted in England using his pick locking skills to open the door in seconds anyways. The pick locking skill that England would proudly admit obtaining from his years of being a pirate.

Finally, America left the bathroom, but the moment he had opened the door all the way, he collapsed. England made sure to catch his fall right away. In the past, America would've crushed England, but now the island nation was able to hold him as if he were something of a featherweight, such as a textbook. America tried to free himself of the support, but England simply didn't allow it as he held America up bridal style and said, "Now let's go get you something to eat."

America started struggling and demanded, "Let me down! I can walk you know!"

Undeterred, England scolded softly, "Stop that now. You can't waste your energy like that when you aren't strong enough to walk."

America stopped fidgeting, but retorted, "I'm strong enough to walk on my own, I just had a dizzy spell, that's it."

England didn't respond to anymore of America's protest, he figured that the nation was just trying to be stubborn. When he arrived in the kitchen, England sat America down at the table and set an apple down in front of him. Then he informed, "All you have to do is eat this apple. Really I ought to give you more to eat, but you're probably not use to eating a normal sized meal yet."

Lightly, America nudged the apple away. England was beginning to lose his patience as he complained, "Oh come on! It's just a bloody apple! There's practically no fat on it, and it has much more water in it than flesh!"

America groaned and refused to pick up the apple. England grabbed the apple and started trying to get America take a bit out of it. He threatened, "You're going to eat this apple, and even if I have to force feed it to you!"

The threat didn't seem to have an effect on America as he continued to dodge his head out of the apple's way. At this point, England spoke in a dangerous voice, "Alfred, if you don't eat this apple, I'm going to bring you to the hospital. You are not going to like it, and neither will I. So why don't you just make it easier for the both of us and just eat this apple."

America bowed his head in defeat and mumbled, "Fine." as he retrieved the apple from England's grip, and began taking tiny bites from it. The taste of the apple burned in his mouth. Every single bite was harrowing, and all he wanted to do was spit out what he put in his mouth. Of course, that was not an option with England watching him. Tears burned in his eyes when he arduously swallowed the last bite. England stroked his still damp hair affectionately as he said in a much more soft and encouraging tone, "That wasn't so bad, now was it?"

"It was terrible." America complained as a tear escaped his eye. England wiped the tear away and smiled, "I'm just so glad that there's finally something in that hollow stomach of yours. Who knows how long you've went without food."

America didn't respond, he was still very much miserable about having to eat something. Gently, England helped America stand up, "Come on now, it's time for this place to have a reasonable amount of food."

* * *

England and America had just returned from shopping for groceries. America didn't even bother to recommend any food when England had asked him what he wanted. Of course, England wasn't expecting America to want anything, but he figured that it was worth the try. Since America was afraid of weight gain, junk food was out of the question. Instead, England had bought a lot of healthy food, at least it would supply him with a decent amount of nutrition. Maybe eventually his former colony would become victorious in his inner battle, and begin to become tempted by something as delicious, and fattening as ice cream every now and then. England certainly hoped that he would one day be able to watch America eat something such as ice cream with eagerness, instead of dread. Anything was better than watching his former colony eat food as if it were some sort of terrible torture.

Once England had finished putting away all of the groceries away, he turned his full attention back towards America who had been miserably watching him. England frowned at this and asked him, "What's wrong?"

"Why are you doing this to me?" America whimpered, tears suddenly dripped from his eyes. The sight of America crying was enough to make England's heart ache. There were so many nations that could be miserable, and he wouldn't have feel a thing at the sight of their agony. However, the moment a tear came from America, and England would feel as if he'd just watched someone kick a puppy. Worse yet, a bag full of crippled puppies that had just lost their mother.

England answered, "It's because I care about you Alfred. All I want is for you to be healthy and happy."

America almost screamed, "If you really cared out about me, then you'd let me go!"

At that point, America was uncontrollably sobbing. For a few seconds England stood there, unsure of what to do, but then he decided to hug America tightly. As he did this, he began to hum a soft song, it always seemed to work when the nation was just a colony. Apparently, it was more effective than England thought it would've been, for in a few minutes America did not shed any more tears, and his sobs were replaced by light sniffles. England looked America in the eye and suggested, "Why don't we take a short walk? Perhaps you just need some fresh air."

America nodded, then followed England outside. The whole time they were walking, America had felt the need to hold England's had. England had allowed it, and didn't mind at all. In fact, he was delighted that his former colony had found comfort to something as simple as holding his hand. It was better than having him cut himself.

When they returned back into the living room, America immediately slumped onto the couch, looking drowsy. England sat next to him, putting an arm around one of his shoulders. He watched as America slowly fell asleep, and when he was sure America was asleep he started tracing his hand across the other nation's cheek. America always had well defined cheek bones, but now they beginning to look more like the cheeks of a skeleton.

A rogue tear escaped from England's eyes, he had not realized all of the pent up tears he had until that moment. He couldn't help but silently cry at the thought of his former colony destroying himself. The situation could be compared to that of a mother trying to help a child who had lost all respect for them self, and began to perform self destructive rituals on a daily basis. He almost felt as if he had no control over whether America was going to be better one day or not. Guilt was beginning to build up within England, he felt as if this was all his fault. Leaning his head down, he whispered into America's ear, "I'm so sorry for all the horrible things I've said to you. None of it was true, you were never fat, you were never stupid, and sometimes, I thought you had brilliant ideas."

He paused for a moment before he added, "I guess I was just too selfish to get over my defeat and respect you as a nation."


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry that it took a while for me to post this. I've just been really busy with the November novel competition, and I might not be able to post very many chapters this month. As much as I would love to.**

 **Also, I hope you guys don't mind that I've shown a few of England's thoughts in this chapter.**

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England lightly shook America's shoulder in order to wake him up. America had been sleeping on the couch for a few hour, and England didn't want him to miss out on lunch. Groggily, America tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes, but it didn't work. He didn't understand why he felt so exhausted lately. America sighed with annoyance when England placed a plate down on his lap with a sandwich on it. After giving the meal of few quick glances, he refused to pay the sandwich anymore attention. England sat down next to America with a sandwich of his own, and informed, "There's hardly any meat on that sandwich. Really, it's mostly just lettuce and bread. I made sure not to put any sauce or cheese on it."

Still, America refused to look at his sandwich, but instead glared at England. Sighing, England added, "I'm going to be eating a sandwich with you, just so you don't feel like the only one eating."

It did not seem at all as if America was listening, instead he continued to glare at England. At first England didn't know how to reply, but then he set his sandwich down on the plate and lectured, "I thought that I made it clear this morning that eating is not optional. You also didn't eat enough for breakfast, so you definitely can not skip lunch. I'm not saying that you should ever skip lunch, or any meal in particular. It's really too simple, all I want for you is to eat that sandwich."

Quickly, America tried to think up an excuse. When he thought up one that he believed would qualify, he tried it out, "I feel too queasy to stomach anything."

England saw right through the act, "You don't feel queasy, and if you think you do, it's probably because you're extremely hungry."

America grumbled with annoyance, "I don't want to eat this stupid sandwich! You probably somehow managed to burn it while putting it together anyways."

The remark stung, but England still kept the patience in his tone, "That's not even possible. Besides, I'm not that bad at cooking. Now stop these ridicules excuses and just eat the sandwich."

Defeated once more, America slowly began to nibble on the sandwich. As he chewed, the sent of the sandwich became much too pungent for him. The fact that it was in his mouth, and that it had flavor was enough to make him gag. England handed him a cup of water he just so happened to have prepared. Gratefully, America took it and guzzled down half the cup. Just so he was able to swallow the few lousy excuses for food scraps he had produced from the sandwich. By the time he had managed to nibble a quarter of his meal into his stomach, he set the sandwich down and sobbed, "I can't eat any more of it!"

England flinched a little at the sudden outburst, but tried to be reassuring, "It's going to be okay. You already have a good portion of the sandwich gone. Now all you have to do is finish it."

"You act like it's so easy!" America cried out, "You don't even have to worry about your weight!"

"You're not fat at all." England replied, "How come you think you're so fat?"

"Because you called me fat." America's voice grew weak, "And so did everyone else, and then I realized that you were all right. How could I not notice the mass of my body? Even someone as stupid and blind as me would eventually see it."

If England hadn't been guilty about the whole situation, he was now. The island nation felt his voice crack with pain, "Alfred, I never meant it. No one meant it. We were all just teasing you. We had no idea you would take it personally."

America turned his head away from England, "Stop lying to me."

There was a moment of silence before America finally said, "I don't care if you're trying to 'help' me or not. I'm going to make myself a better person."

Then America ran towards the bathroom. Of course, England knew exactly what he was going to do, so he ran after, and since he was the one who had better nutrition, he was able to outrun America. England put America into a firm hold, preventing the starved nation from running any further. However, that did not mean he didn't begin to try and struggle his out of England's hold. England sat him down on the couch and yelled with panic, "Why would you even think about doing something like that!? How can you hurt yourself like this!?"

America flinched as tears streamed down from his eyes. All he could do in response was silently whimper, "I'm sorry."

England realized that he must have sounded to harsh, so he hugged America apologetically and said with remorse, "I didn't mean to yell at you."

Still distressed, America replied, "I'll eat the rest of the sandwich."

England felt a twinge of delight when America reluctantly devoured another meager bite from the sandwich. As America continued to eat, England spoke in an encouraging tone, "You're doing the right thing."

By the time America was halfway finished with the sandwich, he had broke out into another, yet more violent fit of gagging. England rubbed America's back soothingly and said, "Well since you seem to already be full, I'm not going to make you eat more."

America looked relieved, "Really?"

England nodded, "I was thinking about you condition while you were asleep, and I figured that your stomach's going to need to get use to having food in it."

 _I really need to start researching Alfred's condition._ England thought hesitantly to himself _I have no idea if I'm dealing with this the right way._ It was then that an idea came to him _maybe it would help to try and distract him from his negative thoughts?_ Facing America once again, England suggested, "Why don't we watch a movie together? Are there any movies you'd like to watch?"

America shrugged, "I don't know, I'm okay with anything."

With that said, England put in the first movie that looked interesting to him, and they both began to watch it. If anyone had walked into the room at the moment, they might have found the seen rather ironic. England was actually more intrigued in a movie made in America than the American himself, who seemed to be completely uninterested.

About halfway through the film, England felt something leaning on his shoulder. He looked over to see that America had fallen asleep with his head resting on his shoulder. England nudged him awake and stated, "This time, why don't you sleep on your bed instead of the couch?"

Groggily, America nodded and England helped him off the couch and all the way to his bedroom. Once America was in his bed, England turned towards the door to leave, but was stopped immediately as he felt America grabbed his hand. America pleaded in a quiet voice, "Please don't leave."

England sat down next to America's bed, "Okay, I won't leave then."

America gave England a small smile, and this time, it was not forced as he said in a low voice, "Thank you."

Then America fell into a deep sleep. England watched America, the guilt he had felt for his former colony's condition was gradually increasing. Not so much to England's desires, he had felt powerless for the whole situation. It was then that a dark thought struck England _I deserve to suffer for this._


	7. Chapter 7

**So after about a few thousand years, I've finally managed to upload a chapter. Sorry for making you guys wait so long.**

 **For some odd reason, I can't stop crying while I write this story. Also, I have a feeling that I made this chapter a little too fluffy.**

* * *

It had been a few hundred years since England saw America in such a peaceful state. Despite the pitiful dark circles that formed on the American's paling face, and his paling skin due to a lack of nutrition, it was clear that his dream contained no terrors nor troubles. One of the many things England had been yearning to see once more, but unfortunately would not be able to savor. It was not the fact that he felt responsible for causing America's agonizing self hatred. He would always be delighted to watch his former colony rest peacefully. The fact of the matter was, he still needed to do his research, and then was the perfect occasion.

After browsing through multiple sources, England was becoming somewhat confident that with the knowledge he had acquired, attempting to help America through the whole crisis would be at the least, more effective than what he had been trying to do. That however, did not mean that England didn't have any concerns. From the many sources he had found reliable, there was one piece of information that perturbed the Englishman. He was not at all fond of the idea that the sources tried to encourage him to let others know of America's condition, so that they could help him as well. There was not one nation England could think of that he thought was suitable for helping him with America.

Other than that concern, England's guilt had slightly worsened after a while of his research. He had read through some red flags, and realized that he was responsible for possibly worsening America's condition. _Why do I keep losing my temper with him? I was suppose to be more patient and compassionate._ Then England sighed, _Maybe I'm worrying too much. I mean, all I have to do is use the correct method of approaching this, and hopefully in the end, I'll be able to see that cheerful, enthusiastic Alfred I once knew._ His stomach churned as his mind felt the need to torment him further _I'm going to mess up, I just know it. I'm going to do something that will encourage America to harm himself further, and I won't be able to help him!_

England mentally slapped himself as he clenched his fists, _Oh pull yourself together Arthur! You need to stay strong if you want to help him. Don't let your emotions get the best of you!_

The encouragement England had provided himself seemed to have helped quite a bit. Instead of letting himself full victim to his thoughts of despair, he began to analyze some plans he had been forming while researching. England sat there, watching America sleep as he continued to revise his strategies. He even lost track of time as he only grew deeper and deeper into his thoughts. In fact, England had become too intrigued in his thoughts to even notice the dizzy spell he was feeling due to exhaustion. Eventually, he passed out. Slumped in the chair he was sitting in as he unknowingly fell into a dreamless sleep.

"England?" England opened his eyes groggily as he felt someone tug on his sleeve. He looked over to see who had disturbed his sleep, of course, he was not angry about being awoken as he usually was. To no surprise, it had been America. England was relieved to see that his former colony look somewhat well rested, but it was still clear that the nation was rather frail. It had been a while since England was able to see him in a more perky state. _Maybe it's a sign of improvement?_ England thought, becoming more hopeful as he asked with a small smile, "Did you sleep well?"

America nodded, becoming slightly embarrassed as he admitted, "Better than I have in a while."

Then America grew a sudden interest in the ground as he felt himself blush with even more shame, _Why do I suddenly feel comfortable venting all my problems to Arthur? He doesn't need to hear it. I mean, he's probably already had enough of me already. I did drag him into this._

England grabbed America's attention as he stated, "You don't need to feel embarrassed."

America gave England a confused look, "But, I thought you would be disappointed in me."

 _I did it again!_ America was beginning to grow irritated with himself _Seriously, I need to stop!_ England seemed to be more confused than America. He knew that the nation had a problem with his self esteem, but England still was not used to hearing the pitiful comments, and he probably never would. England didn't even bother to hide how addled he was as he inquired, "Disappointed? In you of all people?"

"I know you have no faith in me." America replied accusingly, "I've turned out to be such a failure."

Now America was on the verge of tears. England was beginning get a little emotional himself, but he managed stay keep himself under control as he said in a firm, yet gentle voice, "Come here."

America obeyed England's request and let his former mentor embrace him. He finally let out a silent sob, but felt more comforted than he had before. After letting his former colony cry for a bit, England finally began, "I could never be disappointed in you. There's no reason for me to be disappointed. You've proven to me more times than I can count that you are great nation. You're very strong Alfred."

"But I let myself fall apart," Alfred retorted, though there was less hurt in his words, "I let myself fall victim to this depression. I let it control me."

England turned America's head to face him. He made sure to look America in the eye before finally saying, "I know you're strong enough to get through this. I understand that what you're going through is hard, but trust me. Recovery's possible."

There was a moment of silence. England wasn't sure if his words had any effect on America, but then he froze as he felt America wrap his arms around him. England glanced at the American with schock, _Did my words really touch him?_ He couldn't help but melt with glee as he felt America nuzzle into his shoulder while saying, "Thank you so much! I never thought anyone would care as much as you do. I never realized how much you cared about me."

England smiled and stroked his former colonies hair, "I could never stop caring about you."

They stayed that way for a while. That was until England's phone started ringing. England couldn't help but loathe at the sudden interruption. He was having quite a touching moment with America, after all. Taking his phone out of his pocket, he did his best to restrain the irritation from his voice, "Hello."

"Bonjour Angleterre, I haven't seen you in a while." England flinched with vexation as he heard the one voice he rancored even do so much as to even greet him. His hands were already trembling with rage, "I don't care if you haven't seen me in a week!"

France ignored the snappy response, he continued to speak casually, "I've been stalking your house for a few days now. I haven't even spotted you once in your bedroom, or anywhere else you might spend most of your time. Are you with another country?"

 _How can that bloody frog be so casual about stalking me!?_ America could now feel England tremble violently aggravation. The Brit yelled into the phone, "GET AWAY FROM MY HOUSE! I SWEAR THE NEXT TIME I SEE YOU-"

England was cut off as France snapped back, "You didn't even answer my question! Seriously! It's ridiculous how easy it is to anger you!"

Before replying, England took a moment to regain his composure, but he was still violently trembling with rage when he finally retorted, "You shouldn't care about where I happen to be. I don't want, nor need you to. Now never talk to me again!"

England hung up before France even had the chance to reply. He then put his phone away, and sighed in an attempt to relax the tensions that were beginning to build from the short conversation. All of the anger that was bubbling up inside of him had already made him exhausted. He looked over at America who was just staring at him silently. The younger nation wasn't necessarily shocked by England's sudden outrage, he just hadn't fully expected the sudden change in mood. England sighed again, "Sorry about that."

"It's fine." was all America said. England glanced over at the clock to find that it was five thirty three in the morning. Then looked out the slightly opened curtains to find that it was still quite dark out. Changing his gaze back to America, he asked, "It's a little early. Aren't you tired?"

"A little," America admitted, "But I'll be fine."

"Well in that case, let's go eat some breakfast."

America paled, as if he had just seen a ghost appear right in front of him. England stood up, led America out of the room, "Come on, you know the deal."

Reluctantly, America followed England. Every second passed by at such an agonizingly slow pace. At least, for America there was that dreaded tension. Even if England himself felt uneasy about mealtimes, he could never possibly understand how terrifying the subject was to America.

It was England who, to no surprise, took it upon himself to prepare breakfast. All he did was make two bowls of cereal. As he poured the milk in America's bowl, the younger nation suddenly cried out, "You're putting in too much!"

England set the bowl in front of America and explained, "I put in exactly the right amount."

America looked away from the bowl, "I'm not eating it."

It was then that England realized his mistake, _How could've I forgotten? He clearly isn't ready to see me prepare his food! I need to fix this._ Then England came up with an idea, "Alfred, listen to me."

Groaning, America glared at England. Still clearly upset about his cereal. Once the Brit was sure that he caught America's full attention he continued, "I know I've told you this before, but you're a strong nation. I've seen you face your fears before, and even overcome them. I know that you can overcome this one as well."

America cautiously grabbed the spoon. After America swallowed a few bites, England decided to changed the subject, "So, have you played any interesting video games lately?"

The conversation had continued on. America had become so intrigued that he didn't even realize he had eaten all of his cereal, and didn't even notice the stomach ache that tried to warn him about there being food in his system. Eventually, England ended up agreeing to playing one of America's video games. Of course, he was not too fond of the idea, but if it was to make America feel better, he knew he had no choice. The video games did give him time to review his situation, _This really does feel a lot like a battle. I've fought wars that were a lot less challenging than this. Well, I just hope that he'll be able to get better soon._


	8. Chapter 8

**It turns out that this story will possibly be a lot longer than I expected it to be. Fine by me, I'm not even close to losing interest in this story.**

 **Again, I would like to thank everyone for reviewing, favoriting, following, and reading this story. It motivates me, knowing that there are people who enjoy reading this story, and some reviews have helped me detect some errors that managed to slip past my revising. Of course, I found them all interesting, and encouraging.**

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Two weeks passed since England had discovered America's eating disorder, as well his habit of performing self harm. America was recovering, and there had been some improvements to his condition. However, there were a couple of incidents where England had caught America using a sharp object that was near by in order to cut himself when he had his back turned. Fortunately, England was able to stop his former colony from doing too much harm to himself. England was still very much concerned for America. He just couldn't help it. After all, there was no nation that was more important to him than America.

There was going to be a meeting held at France's place, much to England's adversity. America and England were never too fond of the meetings they would always have to attend, and now they had even more of an incentive to abhor them. Despite America's miserable state, England was beginning to enjoy hanging out with his ex-colony. It could be very nerve racking at times, but it still reminded him of the old days when America was still a colony. England never thought he would be able to enjoy time with America as he did in the colonial times ever again. The fact that his harsh prediction was proven wrong seemed to elate England's mood. At least, that was how it was during times when America wasn't disconsolate. Spending time with other countries during a rather pointless meeting instead of having quality time together was not appealing at all.

England and America were currently in Paris, and the meeting would be held the next day. Instead of hanging around the city, they just stayed in their hotel room and organized some notes for the meeting. Soon enough, America and England had eventually found themselves in the middle of a conversation. A rather intriguing one that had absolutely nothing to do with putting forth some dedication towards the meeting. At least, the conversation was intriguing to them. To anyone who had randomly walked in the room, it might have sounded as if the two nations were venting complaints to each other about the meeting, and how they would rather be somewhere else. They weren't angry with each other at all. In fact, they seemed to agree with each other on every single complaint, so that was why they classified it as an engaging conversation. Usually, England would've considered conversations such as the one they were currently participating in pointless, but the nation had been acting differently than he usually did. He was beginning to gain a lot more patience.

For once, America had actually went to bed early on a night before a meeting. It was a miracle that England had never even considered. Despite the fact that they were able to receive quite a high quantity of sleep, they were still enthused the next morning. No surprise there, the only nation that did seem to care about the meetings was Germany, so every other nation could be compared to a teenager with no passion in their school work. The meetings were nothing more than a tedious chore. At least, until some fights broke out.

America sat down at the conference room's table, waiting for the meeting to end. It hadn't even started, which made the situation worse since he didn't want to socialize with anyone. He was about to fall asleep, but was brought back into reality as he heard a soft, timid voice behind him, "Hey Alfred."

Turning around, America found that the familiar voice had come from his brother Canada. A smile crossed his face as he replied, "Hi Canada. I haven't seen you in a while."

Canada stared at America for a while before finally saying, "I've noticed in the last few meetings that you haven't been your usual hyperactive self. Did something happen?"

America shook his head and lied, "Nope, everything is going fine. I'm just as cheerful as ever."

"I hope you don't mind me asking," Canada suddenly began, his voice still wispy as always, "But what are those red lines on your arms. They look like cuts."

Looking down at his sleeves, America realized that some of the scars on his arms were showing. Quickly, he pulled up his sleeves, far enough down his arm to look exaggerated, and explained, "I got bored in the hotel room, so I started randomly drawing lines on my arms with a red pen."

Canada gave America a glare of suspicion, but decided not to question his brother any further, "Well, I'm glad to hear you're doing okay."

America and Canada immediately turned their attention towards France and England as the British nation nation yelled, "I told you to never talk to me again!"

"You know that can't happen Angleterre." France replied with a smirk.

England scowled, "Besides, why are you suddenly so interested in America!? He's clearly none of your business!"

France gave England a creepy smile, moving slightly too close to the shorter nation. Eventually, France retorted, "He is my concern if he's been hanging out with you, petit lapin. I know there's something going on involving you two. Trust me, I'll eventually find out."

"Oh just piss off!" England snapped back, "You're not helping anyone by being a pervert."

"Tu es drôle." France smirked again, this time stroking the side of England's face which resulted in him getting his hand swatted away, "I am not being a pervert. I was just being curious. There's nothing wrong with that, non?"

England continued to glare at France, "Knowing your vocabulary, perverted and curious are the same exact thing."

France laughed at this, "Now you're the one who's beginning to think perverted thoughts."

Sighing with vexation, England turned away from France, and sat down next to America. A few seconds after that, the meeting had begun. Of course, almost no nation was paying attention to any of the presentations. Eventually, boredom was bound to take it's toll on the nations who were waiting patiently for the meeting to end, so of course, there was someone who had create a plot to bring out some action in the dull, colorless conference room. Maybe the fact that they were plotting a plan for action was false, and maybe it was more probable that some nation was testing another one's patience. None the less, the nations were in need of some sort of entertainment. Even if that entertainment was a possible fist fight. It was much better than sitting around and listening to a multiple presentations for three hours.

To no one's surprise it was England who was the first to try and get even with France as he snapped, "Stop touching me bloody frog!"

France answered innocently, "I wasn't touching you Angleterre."

England screeched, "YES YOU DID!"

America watched the two continue to argue, eventually becoming physical. The moment England had lunged at France, half of the conference room interpreted the action as a signal to start having quarrels of their own. Before any real damage was inflicted, Germany roared, "EVERYONE, STOP FIGHTING ZHIS INSTANT!"

Immediately, every nation that was present turned their attention towards Germany, now silent. Germany continued, "From now on if someone has somezhing to say, zhey vill have to raise zheir hand! No one vill speak out of turn!"

Aside from the nations who were permitted to speak, the rest of the conference room stayed mum. Not that any of the nations had much to say when they weren't allowed to strike conflict with whomever happened to find adverse. Staying awake was becoming nothing more than a tedious struggle for America. He thought to himself with annoyance, _I use to possess so much more energy. Even during these pointless meetings. Why am I so tired all of the time?_

Soon, everything became a daze to America. _Seriously, this is ridiculous. I can't possibly be this tired already._

England glanced over at America when he heard a soft snoring coming from his direction. Only to find that the younger nation had fallen asleep with his head tucked into his arms on the conference room table. England watched America for a while as he mentally debated with himself, _Should I wake him up? I mean, he might miss out on something important if I don't._ America shuffled a bit, as if he was trying to make himself more comfortable. England couldn't help but smile at the sight, _He truly does look peaceful when he sleeps. I guess I will just let him rest. It's not like we're actually learning anything important in this meeting, and besides, America must be exhausted from the strain he had put on his body from the exercise, starvation, self-harm, and depression. Some extra rest might help him recover, at least physically. If there happens to be something important, I'll just tell him about it when he wakes up._

The meeting didn't last much longer. Eventually, Germany decided that everyone was faltering during the meeting, thus announcing the conclusion of the conference. The catch being that there was going to be yet another meeting the next day. Almost everyone groaned upon hearing this, but Germany didn't seem to care much for the protest. Almost everyone had left the conference room as England continued to organised his and America's notes. England jumped as he felt someone tug on his sleeve. He was too caught up in his thoughts, and hadn't expected anyone to still be in the room. The boredom seemed to be dragging him into his own world, and made him less aware of his surroundings.

He turned to see a timid nation. One that look very familiar to him, but couldn't quite recall if he had ever met before. After a moment of examining the nation, he finally asked, "I'm terribly sorry about this, but who are you again?"

The nation gave a pained expression at this response and sighed softly, "I'm Canada."

"Oh, well, for a moment I thought you were America, but of course, I eventually knew that you were someone else." England explained, feeling ashamed for forgetting the name of America's twin. After overcoming a portion of his embarrassment, he asked, "So uh, was there something you needed Canada?"

Canada anxiously looked around the room. When he found that America was still asleep, and that he and England were the only nations still present in the room, he began, "Well I was talking to America earlier, and I noticed quite a few red lines on his arms that looked like scars. He claimed that they were lines from a red pen, but I think there's more to it than he's letting on. Do you know what's going on with America? He doesn't seem to be okay."

England nodded, "Everything will be fine Canada. Trust me, nothing terrible is going to happen."

After a moment of inferring what England had told him, Canada finally replied, "Does that mean that there is something wrong with America? Or do you think I'm overthinking the whole situation?"

 _Should I tell him? What if he doesn't take the information well? Or worse. What if he decides to use the information against America?_ England mentally slapped himself, _Okay, so maybe I don't know Canada too well, but I understand his personality well enough, and I know perfectly well that he would never even consider doing such a terrible thing to his brother. Then again, how would Alfred feel if I told him about what was going on? Would it make the situation worse? Would he go into a relapse?_ England snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Canada ask, "Are you okay Arthur?"

"Why of course," England answered. Before Canada could say anything, he continued, "As I have said before, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Nothing's going to happen."

There was a moment of silence. Then Canada finally inquired, "He was cutting himself, wasn't he?"

England flinched, as it was obvious that the younger nation had hit his in the correct spot. Based on the reaction Canada received, he added, "I knew he was the one who inflicted those scars." Then he sighed, the loneliness was present in his voice, "I just wish he didn't keep it from me. I could've helped him with his depression."

"Do you happen to know some things about overcoming depression?" England finally asked after overcoming his shock, but he of course did not feel comfortable at all. Now that someone else had discovered America's terrible secret. He added, "Please tell me if you do."

Canada answered in a grim voice, "You have no idea what it's like to suffer with depression as terrible as Alfred's. All I can tell you is that it can take years for someone to recover from depression. Some people never have to deal with it ever again, while the less fortunate learn to cope with their depression. Of course, it's possible to make Alfred feel happy once more, but he will never be the same person he was before. There's also the chance that the depression will recur multiple times in his life."

England had never heard such forbidding words come from the quiet nation. He tried to stay casual as he replied, "Well, that was quite a dark explanation for depression, but you still haven't answered my question."

Canada seemed to return to his shy self as he explained, "The best thing you can do for him is stay supportive."

Then Canada turned to leave the room, but before he did, he requested, "Just please tell me if he gets worse."

"Okay," England replied. Then he reviewed what Canada had just told him, _Maybe it isn't so terrible if Canada does know about America's self harm. It's starting to feel quite a bit more reassuring now that someone else is willing to help him out. I just hope that no one else finds out. It's obvious that everyone else would use it against him._ England's thoughts became more bitter, _They would probably make the situation worse for Alfred, and try to make him self-harm again. Or worse….._ The thought was sickening. England tried to ignored the queasy feeling, _I'll make sure no one else finds out._


	9. Chapter 9

If it wasn't for France, England would've preferred having America live at his house until he knew for sure that the nation was better. To England, France seemed to ruin every moment of his life that even involved as much as one of his long golden hairs. He didn't desire, nor necessitate the existence for the nation of love. Even if someone accused him of caring the slightest for France's well being, he would still deny it with piercing insults. Unless of course, that nation happened to be himself, but he still refused to agree. Instead, England would become agitated, and force himself to bring back his apathetic bond with France. After all, he always did enjoy harming the exasperating nation, so of course he believed that he didn't care for France.

Then a realization came to England. When he was in America, France wouldn't bother him nearly as much as he did when he was in the United Kingdom. Not only that, but when he was with the personified version of America, who he lately found quite a bit less obnoxious than he use to, he seldom thought of France. Almost to the point where he hadn't even thought of his existence as a nation for an entire week. That was quite a record in England's opinion, and definitely not a pointless one either. In fact, he might have even considered it a life achievement for finally going one day without allowing France to test his patience.

England wasn't the only one who seemed to enjoy the fact that he was with America, but America himself was beginning to appreciate the Brit's company. Although he had been reluctant about it when England first came over to pay him a visit, America was finding the company his former mentor offered rather delightful. Somehow, being around the older nation prevented him from being eaten alive by his gloomy thoughts. Then America began to wonder, _How come he seems to treat me better than everyone else does? I swear, he's an expert at it. Well, I guess he was the one who raised me, but still. There might have been some things that he never found out about me. Besides, for the longest time it felt as if he was grumpy about everything. I thought he had forgotten how to have empathy for others. Come to think of it, maybe it's me who doesn't understand people._

America was not at all hurt by his final conclusion, but instead found it quite intriguing. If it was true that he didn't understand different personality types, and how most individual's minds functioned, then there would be a lot for him to learn. He didn't mind the idea of learning about personality. America was amused, _It's been quite a while since I became so interested in something, but I never thought I would grow such a strong interest for psychology. Maybe it was the fact that England pointed out that I have an eating disorder and what not. Well, at least he only thinks I do. I fail to see what was so terrible about my diet and exercise._

The elated mood was killed immediately, and was replaced by a much less pleasant arora of animosity. America felt himself quiver. His vision blurred around the edges as he resisted the urge to strangle someone in cold blood, _I was so close to becoming worthy. So close until he came along to ruin everything._

America's breathing became more heavy, _I was only trying to impress him, and now he's making me fat again. He told me I was fat a thousand times in the past, so I thought he wouldn't try to stop me._ Warm tears of frustration and portrayal rolled down his cheeks, _How did I not notice? He's just doing this because he wants more ammo. I made the fatal mistake of showing my weakness to him, and now he has an advantage over me. I'm going to be a worthless burden for the rest of my life!_

America sat on the couch. There was no England there sitting next to him, nor was the Brit anywhere in the room. In fact, England was not even present in the house. America's former mentor had left for some errands, and had left America home alone for a short amount of time since he now had faith that his former colony was well enough to enjoy a half hour without him. The lack of England's presence made America shiver with the new draft that hit his body. _I'm all alone._ America realized, _I'm nothing more than a loner, and I did it to myself. There's nothing I can do about it._

More tears spilled violently from his azure eyes, cringing as he began to mutter repeatedly, "I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself."

The distress continued to build tension within America as he continued to mutter those three hateful words. It was eventually too much. America erupted into a fit of rage, "I HATE MYSELF!"

America did not notice when his fingernails began to dig into the skin on his arms, nor did he care when fresh blood from scars that he accidentally reopened began to drip onto the couch. Violently, he writhed around on the couch. Causing him to fall off and land on one of his arms. The impact had resulted in America accidentally scraping off a light layer of his own skin. It wasn't enough to bleed, but was it was still painful. The tantrum didn't last much longer, for America felt too exhausted to proceed. Completely winded now, America grew limp as silent tears continued to pour from his face. By the time he had regained his composure, he flinched as a stinging pain shot throughout the skin on his arms. Glancing down at his arms, America was met with the sight that had resulted from clawing into his own skin. Of course, he had been completely unaware of himself doing this, so the scene came to him as quite a shock.

Then yet another realization came to America. He found himself laying down on the floor rather than the much more comfortable couch. America figured that he must've accidently rolled off during his break down. He looked around the floor and on the couch to see if there was any blood. Luckily for him, the floor was covered in a dark carpet, and the couch was rather dark itself, so instead of showing off an obvious crimson splatter, it only looked as if some water droplets soaked a meager portion of the fabric. The next thing America checked was his current clothing. Upon investigation, America was very much relieved to find that none of the blood stained his clothes, but instead made itself present on his bare arms as a sticky mess. Of course, nothing a simple washing couldn't take care of.

America walked over to the bathroom, and made sure to lock the door behind himself. After making sure that no one could break into the bathroom, America began to clean the cuts. Not that he cared much about having an infection, but he knew that it wasn't the wisest idea to leave it unclean. After all, if the cuts did become infected, and the infections were obvious, or worst yet, England had managed to find out about the infection, America would never hear the end of it. Well, maybe he would, but he knew perfectly well that he was on thin ice when it came to England trusting him enough not to harm himself.

After America finished cleaning up any evidence that he had cut through his skin, or had an emotional break down, he waited patiently on a different couch than the one he had been sitting on before. _He's been gone for a little more than thirty minutes, so hopefully, and surely he'll be back real soon._ Then America became confused, _Why do I miss him so much? I don't need him, and I never will. That is why I became independent, after all._

Soon enough, England finally arrived. America struggled with his urge to cling to his former mentor, and for the sake of his own dignity, he was successful. England smiled at him, "So, how have you been while I was gone?"

America forced a smile and lied, "I was doing fine. It wasn't too hard to find something to occupy my time."

England studied America for a while before finally saying, "Well, it good to know that you're doing fine. I'll go prepare lunch now. It won't be long."

When England left the room, America couldn't help but scowl in the direction England had left the room as he felt his stomach lurch with disgust. The very thought of was such a taboo topic to America at the moment. More than it had been for a couple of weeks. _I'm not going to let myself get carried away this time. Oh no, I'm going to resist any food he puts in front of me. Even if that means I have to put up a huge fight. Maybe if I'm stubborn enough for this improvement, I'll be able to make up for all the lazy days I had that consisted of eating. Never again, will I allow food in my stomach._

"Okay, lunch is ready." England's sudden announcement interrupted America's thoughts. America sat there for a while before he finally shook his head, _Don't go in the kitchen._ When America never made his appearance in the kitchen, England walked out into the livingroom where America was sitting snug on the couch, and inquired, "Aren't you going to eat?"

America shook his head, and turned his entire body so that he was no longer facing England. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned until he was staring in the corner that the couch was next to. America hissed with annoyance when he heard England ask him, "What's wrong?"

America mumbled in response, "I'm fine, I'm just not hungry."

England held one of America's hands and gently tugged, "Why don't you come in the kitchen anyways? It seems like you need to socialize."

Suddenly, America sharply turned his head to deliver England a glare of rancor. His words were impatient, "Why do we need to be in the kitchen just to have a stupid conversation? We can have one right here, or just not have one at all."

England sighed, maybe he was able to solve situations such as the one he was currently facing in the past a few time, but that still didn't mean that it was an easy problem for him the solve. From what he learned, the outcome was always on predictable. Words that might've worked in the past could lose their power. He just had to play his cards carefully with his words and actions, "Alfred, if something's bothering you, please tell me."

The scowl returned to America's face, "I already told you, I'm fine! Now leave me alone."

Instead of following America's command, England sat down next to him, and explained in a come voice, "I know something's wrong. It's not healthy to bottle up your emotions like that, so please tell me what's wrong. I'm only here to help you."

"Screw off!" Was the only reply England received. A soul crushing response to him, but he knew he had to stay strong and positive around America. England chose his next words with more caution than ever, "I'm not going to leave until I know what's wrong. Sorry. I know you don't want me here, but-"

"I said. Screw! OFF!" America shoved England away from him, and made his way to his room. England sat there, completely stunned by the sudden rejection. Sure, America had been difficult about the whole situation at times, but he was never this stubborn about it, and the fact that America had picked up on the bitter attitude out of the blue when things seemed to have been changing for the better confused England in a way he didn't appreciate at all. Not that confusion was his favorite emotion to begin with, but this time it was just agonizing.

England knew better than to sulk where he sat, so he walked over to America's room, and was surprised to find that the door was still open. Silently, England crept into his former colony's room, and continued to approach the nation who was now sitting on his bed in a sulking manner. When England was close enough, he was able to hear the faint sobs that America suppressed. Immediately, England brought America into a gentle embrace and soothed, "You don't need to hold it in. Just let it out."

Hiding his face, America retorted weakly, "Go away."

To prove that England was not going to leave America, as the younger of the nations had wished for, he tightened his arms around America, and brought him closer. America no longer protested, somehow he found the need for someone else's warmth. England continued to comfort America until suddenly, he felt something sticky on one of his hands when he rubbed them against one of America's arms. Not something he quite expected, of course. He looked over at his hand, and flinched when he saw blood. His thoughts were frantic, _Blood!? That can only mean one thing._ England examined America's arm, only to find that there were now three new cuts, deep ones too.

England turned to face America once again. The younger nation was not oblivious to what was going on at all, and it was obvious since the expression on his face gave it all away. England remained tranquil as he motioned for America to stand up, and said, "Here, come to the bathroom. I'll clean up those cuts, and dress them properly."

America obediently followed England into the bathroom, and let the older nation take care of his cuts. Once England was finished, both him and America went into the livingroom. England called Canada on his phone, "I'm going to need your help."

England could hear the sorrow in Canada's voice at this news, "It's too bad he's in this condition. Well, why don't you two come over here as soon as possible then?"

"Okay," England replied before hanging up, then turned to face America when he heard him inquire, "Who did you just call?"

For once England recalled the name as if he never had a problem remembering it in the first place, "Well, I just called Canada. I recommend you pack up your things because we're going to his place tomorrow."


	10. Chapter 10

**Well I managed to finish this chapter in quite a short time, considering how long it is. I've never written this much on a school day, so I consider that an achievement.**

 **Also, don't forget to review. That is, if you want to of course.**

* * *

America had been silent the remaining afternoon, and evening during the day he had his self harm incident. There wasn't even a single peep from him when nighttime hit, and during the late hours was usually when he was the most talkative. He was still willing to eat the food he was given, which definitely helped out England's mood. Though he was still slightly worried about America suddenly becoming mute, it was relieving that the nation was still somewhat taking care of himself. Besides, it was not as if America's silence happened for absolutely no reason, for England could understand cause for the social withdraw. If it only lasted for the rest of that day, then he would let the problem solve itself.

Then morning came the next day, and since America and England were to go on a plane in order to quickly arrive at Canada's place, it was only necessary for the two nations to wake up early. After fifteen minutes of showering, America had finally asked, "So why are we going to Canada's place?"

England explained, "He told us to come over, since he wants to help you."

"Help me with-" America stopped when a realization hit him, then cried out, "Wait, you told him!?"

"Well, not necessarily." England tried to reason, "He figured out that you were cutting yourself, and when he confronted me about it, I told him that he was correct."

America shook his head, "You could've made up an excuse for those scars. Why would you tell him my secret?"

"It was only fair," England began, "and for many reasons too. He was able to figure out your secret to begin with. He also seemed to be concerned with the idea of you harming yourself. As I said before, there are many reasons I could list, but the most important one is that he is your brother, and he has every right to know. In fact, everyone in our little family has a right to know."

A moment later, America asked a question in a fashion that clearly announced the fact that he was only using it as his own ammo, and not for the sake of being inquisitive, "So, since everyone in our little family has a right to know, does that mean that France gets to find out as well?"

Quickly, England shook his head, "No, no, no, no. He never gets to find out. Only Canada and I will ever know about this. Hopefully, no one else will ever have to find out."

"And what will you do if someone does find out about this?" America questioned, and the answer to his question came without a moment's hesitation, but instead it was an answer full of strength and dedication. Technically, England made a vow, "I promise you that if anyone finds out, I will deal with them personally to make sure they never tell another living soul."

America titled his head, "Don't you think that's a little harsh?'

England replied with a smile, "If it's for the sake of your reputation, no. It isn't too harsh."

At this response, America felt the need to interrogate England further, "What if that nation happened to be someone like Japan? I know Japan would never spread a secret like that, so would you just jump on him as soon as he found out?"

"Well, of course I wouldn't give a nation like Japan hell for finding out." England answered, his voice becoming brisk, "Now stop asking me questions, we're running out of time."

Swiftly, both America and England finished preparing themselves for the flight. The airport wasn't too far from their current location, but they still wanted to make sure that they didn't miss the flight. They were able to arrive just on time, since they didn't have to wait a few hours, or worse yet, miss the flight. The part that England and America enjoyed the most about the flight was the fact that it only lasted approximately one and a half hours. Usually England didn't mind being in planes, but he was eager to arrive at Canada's place. Therefore, the flight was not nearly as enjoyable as it could've been for him. America also usually felt the same way about planes, but much to his disappointment, he found absolutely no thrill in the flight. He didn't understand why he had lost interest in flying, but it didn't come to him as too much of a surprise. After all, flying was not the only thing America had lost interest in. As Much as America hated it, he learned that many hobbies he once very much enjoyed were now nothing more than chores. No matter how much he tried to control this, he found that misfortune just wouldn't change.

Once again, America had allowed himself to be absorbed in the endless void of his depressed mind. The more he thought about his lack of thrill towards the events in his life, the more he wondered why he was still breathing. Wondering why he was still breathing made it more painful it more painful for him to breath. Every laborious breath provided him nothing more than pure agony. Soon, it felt as if the claws of despair had a grip on his lungs. His lungs, ones that once yield enough power to echo his voice throughout an entire forest were now becoming weaker as the despair in America's heart continued to circulate it's negativity without their consent. Oxygen became much more challenging for America to acquire as deep pools of forlorn weighed his lungs down. No longer was the depression a problem for his stomach, mind, and heart. It was now his lungs that were beginning to receive their equal share of torment.

It was England's voice that brought America back to, what he considered, a reality that was equally harsh to his own, "Okay America, we're at Canada's house."

America checked out his surroundings, and sure enough, they were in fact standing in Canada's front yard. It was a sudden change in scenery to him, and was certainly confusing, _I don't remember walking off the plane. Also, how did I get here? Maybe I somehow grew too deep into a daydream that I lost track of my surroundings completely. I had no idea I was capable of mindlessly following England._

England was the one who knocked on the door in order to grab Canada's attention. It wasn't long until the door was opened to reveal a rather frantic Canadian. As soon as Canada caught sight of the two nations at his door, he explained in his timid voice, "Sorry, I must've slept in."

America stared blankly at Canada for a moment before finally replying, "It's only eight in the morning."

"Oh maple!" Canada cried out, trying to quickly tame his scruffy morning hair with his hands, "It's way past my time to eat breakfast. I'm so sorry about that, I seem to be out of it today."

"It's fine, really." England assured, then added, "I would really like to thank you for having us over. It really is generous of you to provide America some support."

"No problem." Canada replied with a shy smile, clearly not use to being appreciated, "Well I'll go take a shower real quick, and then I can make some pancakes for everyone."

With that said, Canada ran upstairs in order to complete his morning routine before breakfast. England could easily tell that America didn't look too fond of his situation. England told him, trying his best to be persuasive, "Trust me, I know your brother will be able to help you out. In fact, I have a lot of faith that he'll do a much better job than me. Of course, I'm still going to be there to help you out."

America shook his head, "I still can't believe you told him. Everything was fine until you decided to bring me to his house."

"It was for the best, Alfred." England explained, "After what I saw you do yesterday, I didn't want to take any more chances. It was obvious that my support isn't enough, and that you'll need help from another person as well."

"And how exactly do you know if Canada's the correct choice?" Now America was glaring, as if he expected England to oppose him at any moment, "It's not like you can remember his name half of the time. Considering the fact that you lack the basic knowledge of him, there's no way you could possibly know whether he'd be better at 'helping' me than you."

England became quite agitated with America's response. He thought the younger nation was being ridiculous, much too ridiculous. He snapped, "I have no idea what had gotten into you lately, but it needs to stop! You're negativity isn't going to help the situation! Now stop doubting your brothers ability to help you out with this, you're lucky that he's as willing as he is to spend some spare time with you!"

America was hurt by the sudden retort, but kept the pain to himself as he continued to give England a challenging stare. Apparently England didn't approve to this, "Oh would you stop that? Seriously, you need to stop it with your attitude. There's no reason for you to be so hostile."

The more England continued to scold him over his attitude, the more America began to feel similar to that of a child who was being lectured for doing something wrong. America did not enjoy that feeling at all. It was one of the reasons he became independent, and never did he think he'd be treated as an angsty teenager. America decided to roll his eyes, to show that he was not interested in England's lecture. England did not take this too well as he scolded with an obvious tone of warning, "Alfred! What did I just tell you?"

"You're not my mom." America retorted. That set England over the edge as he stepped much too close to America, and pulled him closer by gripping the front of his shirt, "I'm not going to tell you again. Stop it with the attitude!"

Immediately after saying that, England let go of America, and turned away from his former colony. He took started taking deep breaths in an attempt to control himself. Once England stopped quivering, he turned to glance at America, and immediately felt his stomach knot up with guilt. The younger nation had a hurt expression on his face, and it was obvious that he was trying to prevent himself from breaking down into tears. England thought to himself, _Bloody hell, I was too harsh on him. I really need to learn to control my anger._ England's voice was full of remorse when he finally spoke, "I'm sorry Alfred, I didn't mean to upset you. Please don't cry."

America shook his head, refusing to accept England's apology. A few moments late, Canada made his appearance in the room. After a while of observing the scene in front of him, he asked, "Is everything okay?"

England felt the need to confess, "It's my fault. I made America upset. I'm terribly sorry. I shouldn't have let myself lose control over my temper."

It was England's turn to feel equivalent to a child who was ashamed of their wrong doing. He didn't need to be scolded to understand how he made America feel. Canada looked at America. Then at England, and back to America. The quiet nation seemed to be investigating the situation further based on America and England's body language. Finally, Canada asked England, "So, why did you lose your temper with Alfred?"

England glanced at America before explaining, "I was sick of the attitude he was giving me. Of course, there was a better way of handling the situation. I wasn't thinking straight."

Canada sighed, "Just make sure not to take you temper out on him at such an extreme level in the future."

England nodded, and Canada decided that it was time to change the topic, "Well, I'm going to make those pancakes now. It won't take long at all."

True to his word, Canada arrived at the table England and America were sitting at with a plate stacked with six pancakes, in what felt to America about five minutes. Canada and England were already digging into their pancakes, clearly famished, while America just picked at his as if they would come to life at any moment. Canada noticed this after he finished his first pancake, and asked, "What's wrong America? Are you still upset?"

America nodded, still picking at his food. Canada tried his best to be reassuring, "England didn't mean to make you upset. He really does feel bad about doing so."

"I know." America mumbled, _They're wasting their time on me._ He thought sadly. Canada knew that America still felt upset as he advised, "Maybe you'll feel better if you eat those pancakes."

Immediately after Canada said that, America pushed his plate away and announced, "I'm not hungry."

Baffled by this, Canada tried to explained, "Maybe you just don't feel hungry right now, but the moment you take your first bite, you'll realize that you really are."

England knew that wasn't going to work, so he mouthed to Canada at an angle so that America would be unable to understand him, "I forgot to tell you, he has an eating disorder."

"Oh," Canada mouthed back. His thoughts became hesitant, _I know how to handle depression, but I have no idea how to handle an eating disorder. This is going to be difficult._

However, it appeared to Canada that he didn't really need to worry about convincing America to eat because when he glanced at America to see if he could come up with a solution, England had already somehow managed to persuade America to eat. In fact, America ended up binging all of his pancakes, completely unaware of how carelessly he was ingesting his food. He didn't even seem to notice, nor care that he was eating anything at all. Whether he was swallowing a morsel, or had scarfed down five pounds of beef no longer seemed to matter one bit to America. It was all magical to Canada, _I know he's the one who raised America, but he seems to understand him better than I expected._

After finishing his meal, America seemed to be much more perky. Canada smiled at this, _England seems to know what he's doing, at least with the eating part, but I still hold my doubts for the self harm. I know for a fact that England does not have enough experience with it._ England and America's conversation became nothing more than white noise to Canada as he continued to think, _Maybe I'll find the right time to tell him soon._

* * *

It was when Canada found America sitting on the couch watching TV without England that allowed him to decide that it was time to tell his brother. Only problem was, now that he was confronted with the perfect opportunity, his mind went blank. Canada had absolutely no idea how to explain the information he wanted to share with America. Fortunately, Canada's meager confidence returned, and he was finally able to grab America's attention, "I'm sorry this is so sudden, but there's something I need to show you."

America turned his attention towards Canada, who was now right next to him. Intrigued, America asked, "What do you want to show me?"

Canada was extremely hesitant at first, but then he sighed and rolled up one of his sleeves. America flinched at the sight. Slender, faint scars littered Canada's arm. Once America was over his shock, Canada explained, "You weren't the only one who had this problem. Don't worry about me, I stopped doing it a long time ago."

Baffled, America almost yelled, "Matthew, why didn't you tell me about this? I would've helped you!"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about it until now, but I was ashamed." Canada explained, "I didn't know what others would think of me, so I kept a secret between me and papa."

"Wait, France knew about this too?"

Canada nodded, "Not only did he know about it, but he helped me get better as soon as he found out. At first I hated him for it, but now I just can't thank him enough. He really did make my life better, and I hope that I can do the same for you."

"But it's always so tempting for me to draw blood in my skin." America explained, wondering how he could ever recover, "The pain just feels so rewarding. Are you sure you can help me?"

"It's never too late to get help," Canada began, "If I didn't have faith in you, I wouldn't have shown you my scars. I know it's hard at first, but trust me, things will be better, and I only promise you that. As long as you have the ambition to make your life better, it's possible."

America shook his head, "What if I don't have the ambition to make my life better."

"I asked France the same thing when he first tried to help me." Canada smiled at the fond memories of France's care. The nostalgia melting him gleefully. Finally, he continued after having his moment, "He told me that there's always hope, and he even shared with me a few tricks to make myself feel better whenever I felt like my life was pointless."

America inquired, "What was one of the tricks he told you?"

 _Perfect!_ Canada's thoughts were full of triumph, _I knew my words would get through to him somehow. Now he wants to learn how to get better!_ Canada began to speak, "One thing he told me to do whenever I felt upset was talk to someone close about how I was feeling. He said that it was only healthy to vent negative emotions, since bottling them up prevents your body from releasing toxins. Another thing he told me to do was to find a new hobby. One that could take my mind off my negative thoughts, or prevent them from coming. This last one might sound silly at first, but I found it very helpful."

Now America was extremely engaged with that conversation, nothing had felt so interesting to him for quite a while now. He urged Canada one, "What's the last tip?"

"Sunlight," Canada simply said, "Sunlight can definitely help rid someone of depression, and a deficiency of it is one of the most common causes of depression in the first place, especially when you live up north like I do."

America nodded, "Since this seemed to have worked for you, I think I'll try it out myself. Just one more question."

"What would that be?"

At first America wasn't sure if he should ask the question, but it eventually spilled out of his mouth before he could stop himself, "How did France find out that you were self harming?"

Canada stared at him for a moment, his expression becoming grim. Then he finally began, "It was during a world meeting. I was spending my time in the bathroom, since it felt like no one noticed my existence anyways, and I found it pointless to waste my time with the meeting. The bathroom seemed like the perfect place to release my pain, so I began to cut myself with the knife I smuggled. I kept on cutting, and cutting, and cutting. Each cut would become deeper. Until, I cut too deep. I tried to stop the bleeding, since I did still have the will to live, but it just wouldn't stop, and I eventually fainted from blood loss."

America was now on the verge of tears, "Canada, you almost died?"

Canada sighed, "Unfortunately, yes. Luckily, I'm a nation, and that's what allowed me to cling on for dear life. If I had been a human, I wouldn't have made it."

A look of guilt was plastered on Canada's face from the memory, but he continued, "Before I passed out, I saw a blurry figure approach me. After everything went black for a few moments, I woke up in the hospital. France was standing next to my bed, and I've never seen him look so worried in his life. His face was tear stained. He told me that I had been missing from the meeting for a long time, and wanted to check if I was okay. He was the one who saved me from bleeding out, and brought me to the hospital. I wanted to return the favor, so I promised him that I would stop cutting."

There was a long, silent pause. The story touched America, to him, it felt as if someone had stabbed his heart multiple times upon listening to the near death of his beloved brother. He couldn't help but let a few silent tears escape. Finally, Canada broke the silence, "We should both get to bed now. It's getting pretty late."

America nodded, sniffling as the last of the remaining tears faded from his face. When America climbed into his bed in one of the guest rooms, sleep seemed to be a chore for him. Eventually however, he finally managed to slip into a deep sleep. His dreams were peaceful, despite Canada's tragic story.


	11. Chapter 11

After one more month of Canada's support, America was finally deemed cured of his eating disorder and depression. At least, that was what England and Canada assumed, but that didn't mean they were absolutely correct. Before America was permitted to live on his own again, he had to prove that he was well enough not to harm himself behind any nation's back. Sure, America appreciated the fact that there were nations who were willing to help him out during his crisis, but it was a burden on his dignity and privacy, and he loathed a lack of both. To say the least, their presence was becoming annoying to him. Besides, America once had goals, and all he saw from the help he received was the tedious idea of starting them all over. The American wasn't even sure if he would be able to gain the self discipline required to starve himself after all of the meals he was tricked into eating ever again. It was bitter pill to swallow in America's perspective.

Of course, receiving his privilege to live on his own once more wasn't the simplest task America achieved. What was most challenging was the fact that he had to act as if he was fine in the most reasonably natural way possible, and since he was not anywhere near being the chirpy nation he once was on the inside almost messed him up on so many occasions. America thought that his fake smile and act would fail him, so it came to a great surprise when the barriers of his falsehood actually worked out. It made him wonder, _Am I really that good at acting? If they saw through it, they wouldn't have let me off the hook. I know they aren't bad at reading people, but I'm too clumsy to act._ Then a realization came to him as he mumbled, "For once, I think I can actually appreciate my luck for not going against me."

America continued to stare into the mirror on his bedroom wall. He felt himself quiver with abhor at what he saw staring back at him. Based on what his mind translated from his own reflection, it claimed that his arms, legs, and stomach were all bloated. His cheekbones were also terribly defined, making his cheeks look puffy, and his eyes tiny and less appealing. Another 'flaw' that really stood out to the American was the fact that his hair was 'greasy' and 'unruly'. He assumed that it was the sweat from all of the fat that his bones and muscles were forced to support. America just wished that the mirror would lie. It became a habit of his, to always blame the mirror for his mind's misrepresentation.

As America continued to gaze into the mirror an image of how his country's supermodels were always so thin appeared in his mind for a brief moment, causing the nation to scowl with envy. Then he thought about his citizen's ever rising obesity rates, and immediately became ashamed. Of course, he was not feeling contrite for his people. Never could he place the blame on something that he considered out of their control, but instead, he placed the blame all on himself. His thoughts became grim, _I'm a lousy excuse of a nation, becoming fat. How could've I not seen the consequences this would have on my people? Well, never again. I will lose weight for the sake of my country, starting with ten pounds this month._

For a moment, America stood there and pinched his skin before finally questioning aloud, "Will ten pounds this month be enough? What if I don't enough weight fast enough?"

He continued to stare at his arm as he pinched the skin on his before finally nodding, "It's settled, fifteen pounds before this month ends. It shouldn't be too hard, I mean, there is about twenty day left."

With that said, America prepared himself for the long dash he had planned outside. The idea of eating any breakfast that day went completely ignored as the nation began his personal marathon throughout the city. It was only five in the morning, so he didn't have to worry about too much traffic on the roads or sidewalks. After three solid hours of jogging, America had already emptied his water bottle twice in his attempt to stay hydrated. Beads of sweat littered his face, and dampened his hair to the point of weighing down his cowlick. Still, he proceeded with his jog. All for the sake of weight loss.

About one more hour of non-stop running passed before America finally collapsed on a nearby bench. No one could count his breathing as panting, but instead the nation was hyperventilating from the lack of oxygen. His throat ached from dehydration. No matter how hard America had tried to quench his thirst, the prickly feeling of sand always welcomed itself back. His throat might as well be a parched desert. Worst of all was the light headed feeling that America was being tortured with, and the fact that his vision was becoming so dim didn't help. People gave him worried glances as they walked by, but he was very pleased when none of them made an attempt to bring him to a hospital. He didn't care how terrible his condition was, the hospital would prevent him from losing weight, and he just couldn't allow that.

By the time America gained what he considered a decent amount of strength, he stood up from the bench, and began to walk back to his house. His house was quite a distance from where he currently was as well, at the very least it was five miles. Of course, that was not a problem for the persistent nation, the more mileage the better. Even though his vision was still rather dark from the heat and dehydration, the American still continued to push on. Even when his legs screamed with protest and wanted to shut down, he still pushed on. Even when his lungs wanted to shrivel up with from their deprived state to end the suffering they were forced to endure, he still pushed on. His mind no longer sympathized the body it lived in, but instead made it a mandatory to undergo any harsh procedure or workout that would result in a huge loss of fat.

Even though the American had been walking to his house, he still managed to arrive there in less than two hours. As much as his legs wanted to relax, America still forced them to travel at a rather swift speed. He was almost jogging the entire time he walked to his house. The first thing the exhausted nation did when he entered his house was black out on the couch. He wasn't even aware of the fact that he was resting. His body could no longer support what his mind's desires, it just needed a break.

America remained unconscious for nearly a day before he finally awoke the next morning. It wasn't a pleasant awakening, but instead welcomed the groggy nation with an excruciating headache. America groaned, and held back a sob as his brain continued to send its nerves screaming. It was almost as if his brain was trying to tell him that someone had just split his head in half. Of course, America knew that this was not the case, and definitely yearned for the organ to stop 'overreacting'. At that moment, he just wanted someone cradle his head, and even if it wouldn't rid him of the horrendous pain, it'd still somewhat distract him. _Weak,_ America found himself responding to his desire, _I shouldn't need anyone else to help me cope with my pain. Everyone else seems to be independent during these situations, so the fact that I want someone to make me feel better only proves that I'm weak._

Suddenly, nausea gripped America's stomach, causing him to gag loudly. Immediately, he slid off the couch and dashed to the bathroom, ignoring the stabbing pain in his head from the sudden movement. As soon as he reached the bathroom, vomit erupted from his mouth. Some of it hitting the floor, but the nation managed to prevent too much of the vial content from making a mess of his bathroom. By the time America had unwillingly emptied his stomach into the toilet, a sudden wave of exhaustion hit, causing him to stumble backwards before he could even think about cleaning up his mess. Once again, the nation lost consciousness, and this time ended up lying on the frigid hard ground of his bathroom.

* * *

Slowly, America opened his eyes as he began to stir. The headache that was still present was not nearly as torturous, and some of his energy was finally beginning to return. America began to shiver and curl up as an unwelcoming chill made its way across his body. The nation continued to lay on the floor until a pungent miasma snapped him out of his dizzy day dreams. He sat up to look for what could've caused such a reek in the room he was in, and when he found a few puddles of drying vomit, he cringed, _Oh gross! Where did all this barf come from?_ The the fuzzy memories finally came back to him, and he sighed, "Come on, it was only a simple jog. There's no excuse for my body to react in such a way."

America stood up on shaky legs, and began to clean up his bathroom floor. After all, he didn't want the vomit to grow stale, or worse yet, rot. Once he had finished bleaching the floor, America gripped his stomach as a hunger pang decided to announce its existence. Hissing with annoyance, the nation tried his very best to ignore his complaining stomach, but it proved futile. Eventually, America gave into his stomach's desires, and set off to his kitchen to find something to eat. He decided to settle on a bowl that was half way full of dry cereal. Reluctance and guilt had tried prevent him from eating the cereal, but the hunger had become so unbearable that he ended up mindlessly scarfing down every last crumb of his meal.

The half bowl of cereal was not enough for America, eventually he began to eat his food straight from the bag. No longer caring for decency, nor discipline. He was starving, that's all there was to it. Eventually, America managed to stop his binge episode from becoming too uncontrollable when he saw that there was now a portion of the cereal gone from the bag. Shaking his head, he questioned aloud, "Oh Arthur, why did you have to make me reliant on food again?"

Then he sighed, "He'll never understand what it's like to struggle with weight. He can already eat whatever he wants without gaining a pound. Why he thinks the same would apply for me, I'll never know. Maybe one day he'll understand that I don't need to eat, I just need to be thin."

Soon, America began to feel tired once more, but he didn't want to go to fall asleep until he was clean. He did feel very grubby at the moment, and found it embarrassing. After taking a long, warm shower, America finally curled up underneath the blankets of his bed. Before sleep finally overcame the nation, a faint voice hissed from the back of his mind, _weak._


	12. Chapter 12

**Since Christmas break pretty much starts tomorrow, I should be able to update this story much more often. About time too.**

* * *

America waited patiently at the conference table as he watched the other nations socialize among themselves. It was quite a bore for the American, but he knew there was no way he could bring his comrades together to start the meeting any time soon. He didn't even understand why the other nations had insisted on hosting a meeting when there was clearly nothing to discuss. America scowled at the inconvenience, _It's probably just for the sake of satisfying our boss's. I just know that this meeting's going to be nothing more than a blow off._

There was once a time when the America preferred pointless meetings much more than the dull, serious ones. That was the past, and with the new expectations America had set for himself, he made it essential to remain earnest at all times, and during any possible situation thrown at him. Unless of course, there was that one emergency situation when a fake smile was required. That was the only exception. Otherwise, it would always be work before fun, and America always managed to find work. _Fun, humor, excitement. I never needed any of those things._ America mentally scoffed, _The very idea of wasting time._

America turned his head to glance at something else other than nations enjoying themselves. Then, something caught his eyes. There, lined up neatly on a tray were a bunch of macaroons. They were the greatest, most bodacious pastries America had ever laid his eyes on in quite a while. He began to feel his mouth water, just staring upon their near irresistible beauty. The only thing America had eaten that morning was a muffin, and it had been nearly three hours since he ingested any food. America inaudibly groaned with annoyance, _How come everyone felt the need to bring food to the meeting? Now of all times when I'm on this diet. It's just so unfair. I just wish this food wasn't up for grabs._

Eventually, the temptation became too much for America to handle. Mindlessly, he began to reach for a macaroon. However, the moment his hand was approximately one inch away from the pastries, he immediately backed off. If compunction could be personified, America knew that it would've punched him right then and there, but it didn't need to physically beat him to make him feel as terrible as he already felt. Turning away from the macaroons, America curled up in his seat. No longer did he feel comfortable in his own skin. He cringed as he felt non existent eyes pierce into him, and it didn't take too long before he ended up in a fetal position on his chair.

America snapped out of his nervous breakdown when he felt someone lightly shake his shoulder. Flinching, America saw the one face he dreaded the most, France. He failed to see the concern in the nation's face, but it was still present as the older nation inquired, "What's wrong Amérique? Aren't you hungry, at all?"

"No." America shook his head violently, the very thought of food was beginning to make him queasy. France examined America before finally stating, "You're acting so weird today. At first you looked as if you wanted to eat all of those macaroons, but then you retreated from them as if they had caught on fire. Now you're cradling yourself as if you'd just been traumatized, and you've refrained from speaking to anyone. Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm fine, I really am." America mumbled, suddenly finding an interest in the floor, "I'm just feeling a little sick in the stomach, that's all."

"You do look a little pale today," France seemed to agree for a moment, but then countered, "However, that doesn't explain the fact that you looked rather hungry for a moment, or why you had a break down."

 _Ugh, why does this pervert suddenly have such an interest in me? Shouldn't he be warning me about my constant weight gain?_ America glared at France, the icy blue color only making them more piercing as he retorted, "Come on, my 'break down' couldn't have been that bad."

"You were almost hyperventilating mon cher, and there's no doubt you were panicked." France sat down next to America, and wrapped an arm around him in an attempt to be comforting, "Please tell me what wrong."

America pushed the other nation off, and snapped, "Why do you care so much? It's not like you've never mocked my culture, or my appearance!"

Shocked, France tried to explain, "Amérique-"

America stood up quivering with rage, "No France, I don't want to hear it! Aside from Russia, you're the last nation I ever want to see! Don't speak to me ever again!"

With that said, America stormed off. France continued to stare at the door the younger nation slammed during his fit when he walked out of the room. That had been the second time a nation had told him to never speak to them again, and it hadn't even been three months. France snapped back into reality when he heard Poland say, "Like oh my god, he needs to loosen up. I mean, how often do we have a meeting without Germany? Pfft, like almost never."

France glared at the Pole, "I think you misunderstand the situation. Why don't you go hang out with someone else?"

"Uh, rude." Poland crossed his arms, clearly offended, "You're like being so stuck up now, and a moment ago you were actually having fun. Like what the-"

France waved his hands as if he was trying to rid of a pest, "Partir. Go. Leave."

"Whatever." Poland said before turning away from France.

* * *

Meanwhile, America had locked himself in the bathroom. He just needed some time to himself. Of course, the time was intended to help him settle down, but he just couldn't help looking in the mirror. A habit that didn't help lighten the mood at all. The first thing he thought when he saw himself in the mirror was, _Am I really that pale?_ Upon studying his appearance further, he decided, _My body's just overreacting. twenty pounds in two months isn't going to kill anyone._

Then America looked down at his stomach. When he poked it, he felt a thin layer of squishy fat. The same went for his arms, legs, and cheeks. Then frustrated tears threatened escape his eyes _It's never good enough, is it?_

Retrieving a knife from one of the pockets of his bomber jacket. It wasn't easy for the nation to smuggle, but he thought the hassle was worth it. After drawing a few red lines with the knife into his arms, America glanced down at his stomach, and whispered, "Should I? Or should I not?"

Then the American began to giggle as he cut a huge FAT into the skin on his stomach. Eventually, his laughter became so intense to the point where he dropped his knife, and slid against the wall until he was on the floor. Tears finally splashed from his eyes, but they didn't come from his laughter. Instead, they came from the endless void of pain that always seemed to torment America's spirit. During, his fit of laughter, he managed to say aloud, "What's wrong with me!? What have I become!? Why is it so painful, yet so funny!?"

Once America was finally over his laughter, he picked up his knife, and began stroking it. All while smiling gleefully, "Oh my precious knife, you never fail to make me feel better."


	13. Chapter 13

It had been two months since France had tried to investigate America's problem, and during that time, the already scrawny nation had managed to lose thirty more pounds. America would often think the same thought whenever he lost weight, _It's not good enough, I'm suppose to weigh less than one hundred pounds._ Never would the American take his height into consideration, and maybe if he did, he would aim for a more reasonable weight. Of course, that was a maybe. There was always the possibility that the result of the situation would remain consistent. It didn't seem to matter that there were people who would walk up to the nation, and tell him, "You need to eat something, you're wasting away." or "You're a living skeleton." because he would always interpret there comments as sarcastic remarks. Seeing himself in a picture, or in the mirror didn't seem to help either. The only thing America ever wanted to listen to was what the scale said, or the flaws that his inner critic would constantly nag about. He thought the two were helping him, but something deep down told him that listening to the inner critic, and scale only did him more harm than good.

There had been days when America didn't have the energy to let himself off of his bed. He would just lay there for hours, possibly even an entire day. Much to his adversity, he was currently experiencing a day when walking around, or exercising simply wasn't a choice. He would have to wait patiently for his energy to return, much to his dismay. Of course, there were times when America enjoyed not being able to move from his bed. Sometimes the exercise, and starvation would really catch up to him, and burn him out to the point of thriving the under active behavior. It could be compared to that of a teenager during the last few weeks of school. He was just simply too exhausted to do anything more than rest, and slack off.

However, America did not want to rest, nor slack off. The idea of being lazy was beyond sickening to him, and no doubt, sent him through guilt trips whenever he thought about the times he would lay on his bed, or couch without burning a single calorie. Resting made him feel heavy, and feeling heavy only did one thing for America. It made him feel more plump, and being overweight had no doubt, become the equivalent to the worst sin in the American's eyes. When the pitiful nation didn't think his situation could become any worse, he heard the voice of his inner critic sneer, _I told you that you weren't losing weight fast enough. Now look at you! You're too fat to even lift an arm above your head. Every American would be disappointed to see their country in such a state, and you know it. Don't you even remember our motto? 'One pound a day, keeps the fat away'. Thirty pounds in two months is NOT one pound a day. Do the math idiot!_

The lack of energy did have one upside for the American. He wouldn't be able to cry no matter how many times his inner critic would claw at his dignity. However, that did not mean that the words didn't hurt America. No matter how many times his darker side would recite them, they were still always an extremely agonizing attack on his ever faltering ego. In a hoarse voice, America tried to reassure the voice, "I've been doing the best I can. Please, my body can only handle so much."

 _Oh don't give me that! If your body can't handle a small diet, it's weak, useless, and UGLY! It's your fault you're body's ugly because you never put in enough effort to be good enough. You only think the standards are too high, but really, they aren't. I mean come on, every other nation seems to be able to stay thin and perfect. So why can't you be just like your peers? Simple, you're nothing more than a helpless burden! You're weak Alfred! WEAK!_ The voice only seemed to become louder as it continued to complain about America's imperfections. The said nation mentally bowed his head in shame, and begged, "Please stop yelling. I promise to do better."

 _Empty promises that are never completed. That's all you ever seem to provide._ Somehow, America had managed to muster the energy to sit up in his bed. He sat there for a while in case the voice had anything more to tell him, and when it remained silent, he stood up, and began to make his way downstairs. By the time he made it to the front door of his house, he slipped on his shoes, and set out for a quick jog. However, the jog was not for the exercise. His true desire was to investigate the condition of his people. He was truly curious as to whether his self improvement had any effect on the citizens in his country.

As the gaunt nation examined the appearance of the people he ran past, he noticed that most of them were on the slim side. Since the block he was jogging across was always busy, he was able to figure out the fact that most of his citizens were slim was no coincidence. Sure, there had been a few rather corpulent individuals, but it was nothing compared to the majority. Even finding someone who had a healthy amount of body fat was somewhat of a rarity. It was enough to make America panic, _Did I really do this to my people?_

The voice that had been pestering America earlier returned in response to the question, _Of course this was your doing idiot! They're all starving and suffering because of you! All because your desires of becoming handsome was more important to you than their health!_ America shook his head in denial, "Shut up! You told me to do this!"

A few people gave America judgmental looks from his sudden outburst, but the nation wasn't paying any attention to them. Instead, he listened to what the voice had to say next, _I told you to do it, but you didn't have to listen to me! I can't believe you're so stupid! WHAT KIND OF AN EXCUSE FOR A NATION ARE YOU!_ America didn't notice when he began to curl up against a brick will. Everything around him was completely tuned out as he began to yell out, "I don't even know what you want from me anymore! Nothing I do is ever good enough! Why can't you just accept me the way I am!?"

 _Why can't I accept myself for who I am?_ America inquired to himself. The voice sighed with annoyance, _Look, why don't you do us both a favor and get on the scale. Maybe you actually did something right for once, but we'll see._ America obediently nodded, and began to sprint as quickly as his body would allow him to. In almost no time, he was in his house, and on the scale. After a few moments of standing on the scale, it finally determined his weight, and it was then that the nation found he weighed one hundred thirteen point eight pounds. He nearly cried when he heard the voice laugh, _One pound? That's it? You're pathetic! It's a shame you can't lose weight any faster, fat ass! Lord knows you need to!_

America continued to stare down at the scale as he mumbled, "I don't even know what you want from me anymore."

Taking out his beloved knife, America began to roll up his sleeves. He just needed to relieve himself of the pain. No longer did the nation just cut random lines into his skin, but instead would add multiple labels every time he self harmed. In one of his forearms, he slowly carved in the words UGLY, STUPID, and WORTHLESS. On one leg, he sliced in DEFECT, and ion the other leg, he sliced in PATHETIC. Then on his stomach, just above the word FAT, he added a phrase, WASTE OF SPACE. By the time he had finished, there was blood all over the bathroom floor, but he didn't care anymore. Instead, he showered as if nothing had happened, and dressed up to return to his bed.

Once more, America laid down on his bed, and stared at the ceiling with feelings of despair and desperation. Nothing. Absolutely nothing seemed to interest the nation anymore. He was numb to all feelings of joy, and could only feel the pain worsen due to the imbalance. Silent tears rolled down to his ear as he whispered, "I wish things could go back to how they once were. Before I ever decided to start this stupid diet. Before I began to cut. I wish I could stop doing this to myself."

Then America's phone began to ring. He groaned, and squeezed his eyes shut with annoyance, _Why now of all times?_ When his phone didn't cease to ring, America answered it. Only to be met with a rather perky British accent, "Hello America, we haven't talked in awhile. How are you doing?"

Bitter words threatened to spill from America's mouth, _You don't care about how I feel! I bet you're just glad you don't have to deal with me in person any more! No! I'm not fine! Just let me kill myself so that you never have to deal with me again!_ Instead he masked it all with a single lie, "I'm doing fine. How about you?"

America cringed at the euphoria in England's response, "I've been doing great! Even though you were struggling with depression when I visited you, there were still some times I enjoyed. You know what America, I really do think we should hangout more often."

 _There's no way he could possibly mean that._ America's mood was not elated, but he still was able to chirp back, "Oh! I think spending more time together would be a great idea!"

"I'm delighted to know that you agree." England replied, and then added, "Now, don't forget that there's going to be a meeting at your country tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, see you there!" and with that said, America hung up, and ended the conversation. Then he set the phone back down on the table at the side of his bed right next to his alarm clock. As he curled up, he sighed, "Oh right. That stupid meeting. A world meeting too, and almost every country is going to be there. For some reason I have a bad feeling about this one. Then again, I always have a bad feeling about everything nowadays, so this one shouldn't be any different."

America decided to ignore the feeling, and fall asleep. However, the dread continued to lurk in his stomach, but after a few hours of shuffling around in his bed, he finally managed to drift into a deep sleep. Although, his dreams were not too pleasant that night.


	14. Chapter 14

Even though America was wearing three extra layers under his normal outfit, the conference room was still gelid to him. He curled up on his seat in an attempt to keep warm, but it was to no avail. Turning up the heat wouldn't help either, since every nation wasn't experiencing America's problem with homeostasis, and he knew that none of them would want to sweat for a few hours straight just for his sake. Shivering violently, America thought desperately, _I wish I wasn't so cold all of the time. Why have I been so cold lately anyways? It makes no sense._

The meeting continued to drone on. Presentations were being shared, speeches were announced, and more attention had been brought towards concerns that had been unrecognized in the past. Not that America cared about what was going on in the world, at least not anymore. He was just too cold, and too exhausted to interpret the words that seemed to fumble from his equally enthused peers. Eventually, the scrawny nation began to doze off, but it wasn't for long. A certain German accent woke him up with a yell, "America! Pay attention to zhe meeting!"

Groggily, America lifted his head just enough to see Germany's face. All he did was nod, and muttered inaudibly, "Greece sleeps through the meetings all of the time. No one ever yells at him."

Waiting one more hour for their lunch break to finally arrive was agonizing for America. Especially since he had to make sure not to fall asleep a second time. However, his attempt to stay awake was proven to be futile, and he had dozed off once more. This time, for at least half of an hour before he felt someone lightly shake him awake. Disgruntled, America glared at whoever decided to wake him up, and was only more angered when he found out that person happened to be France. His voice was throaty as he snapped at the older nation, "Just leave me alone pervert! Don't you know when you're not wanted!?"

France ignored the rude comment, and felt America's forehead with his hand as if he was checking the younger nation for a fever. A few moments later, France cried out in shock, "Amerique, you're so cold!"

"So I am," America replied impatiently, clearly not interested in the possible danger his body could be in, "You can leave now."

"Non," France shook his head, "You seem ill, and I'm not going to leave until I'm sure you're okay."

America narrowed his eyes at France, "What makes you think I'm ill? I'm fine, and I don't want to hang around you any longer. Just leave me alone already!"

Instead of obeying America's request, France continued to stand their, and study the other nations appearance. The sick nation's skin was beyond translucent, and the dark circles that had formed beneath his eyes were almost black in color. After quite a while of observing America, France began to drag one of his hands across the scrawny nation's prominent cheekbones. It was as if he didn't want to believe the sight before him. Eventually, the older nation was able to find his voice, "You're so thin and pale. You need to eat something."

America violently shook his head, and turned away to stare at the floor with fright. Confusion prickled at France from this reaction as he inquired, "Why not? A decent meal will help you feel much better. How can eating be so unappealing to you?"

America yelled in response, his voice trembling, "I-I'm not hungry!"

France retrieved his lunch from his bag, and set it in front of America, then explained, "Maybe you are hungry. It's possible for someone to be hungry without even noticing. Also, I didn't touch this food yet, so don't worry about it being unsanitary."

When France finished speaking, America's inner critic shouted, _Look, he's giving up his lunch for you! Congratulations! Now France is going to be hungry the rest of the meeting! You disgust me! Selfish waste of space!_ America pushed the food away, and sighed, "I appreciate your generosity, but it isn't necessary. Since I'm not hungry, and you probably are, I think you should just eat your lunch."

"The meeting won't last much longer. I'll just eat something when it's finished." France assured, and then added a command, "Now eat something. I'm not leaving until at least half of that meal is gone."

 _There's just no winning, is there?_ America thought as he continued to glare daggers at the food in front of him, _Well, there's no way out of this. I guess I'll just have to eat until that idiot leaves. After all, I can just throw it all up when he's gone._ Nervously, America slowly began to nibble at the food. Every meager bite he swallowed seemed weighed his stomach down quite a bit. By the time approximately one quarter of the meal was gone, America began to violently gag. France began to rub America's back out of sympathy, "You don't have to eat another bite if you feel sick."

The gagging only managed to remain consistent. After a few attempts to keep his food down for the sake of France's request, America finally decided to make a dash towards the nearest bathroom. France didn't stop him, but instead followed the frenzied nation. Fortunately America managed to kneel down in front of the toilet before the vomit finally began to pour from his mouth. France pulled back the younger nation's hair. Despite the fact that it was short, he didn't want to risk the chance of it becoming filthy, and crispy from the puke. Once America had finished emptying the contents from his stomach, he flushed the toilet, and made his way back to the conference room. However, he stopped in the middle of the hallway when France set a hand on his shoulder. America turned around to face the older nation, his voice was even more scratchy from the acidic vomit that had forced it's way through, "What do you want now?"

"I know something's not right," France began, "And the situation we both just face wasn't the first one that made me feel this way. Two months ago, you began to act very strange, and it's only become worse. When I ask you this question, you _will_ answer honestly. Why did you lose so much weight these past two months?"

America nervously glanced into France's eyes, his thoughts were frantic, _If I say my economy is terrible, he might use it against me. If I tell him the truth, I'll lose any respect he had for me. That is, if he did have any respect for me to begin with. This is not good. How in the world will I be able to get myself out of this safely._ When the younger nation remained silent, France demanded, "Answer my question."

America began to back away from France as if he felt that his life was being threatened by the older nation. France continued to glare at America, his patience was running out, "Just answer my question!"

After a moment of silence, France finally concluded, "You've been starving yourself, haven't you?"

Another awkward silence followed after France's statement. Tears threatened to fall from America's eyes as the older nation began to yell, "Amerique! Why would you even think about doing such a thing!? Do you even realize how much you're hurting yourself!? You're not immune to starvation, and You're going to die if you keep this up!"

America gave France a kicked puppy expression, which immediately made the older nation feel guilty. Pulling America into a tight embrace, he lowered his voice, "Je m'excuse. I didn't mean to yell at you. I was just worried."

America whimpered as he tried with all of his strength to pull away from France. The struggle only resulted in France tightening his arms around the gaunt nation as he soothed, "Shh. It's okay."

Suddenly, an enraged British accent grabbed both America and France's attention, "Get your bloody hands off Alfred! I swear, I'm going to kill you if I find out you did anything to him!"

Refusing to let go of America, France tried to explain, "You misunderstand Angletere. I'm only trying to help Amerique, not harass him."

England furrowed his eyebrows, and didn't bother to hind the suspicion in his tone as he interrogated, "Why exactly are you trying to 'help' Alfred?"

France's expression became grim as he answered, "Amerique's been starving himself. Aside from the fact that he's been doing so for quite a while now, I have no idea if there's something else he's hiding. If you think I'm making this up, I'm not. Just look at him for a moment, and tell me he isn't just skin and bones."

After examining America's condition for a few moment, a pained expression became present on England's once bitter face. When he spoke, betrayal was present in his voice, "Alfred...you promised me and Canada that you would stop harming yourself."

Then the Brit paused for a moment, and sighed, "I should've known you weren't fully healed. Thinking back, your smiles did look rather forced." then he shook his head with grief, "Bloody hell. I'm not even sure if I can trust you on your own ever again!"

America bowed his head, and and replied with a pained whisper as tears trailed down his cheeks, "I'm so sorry…."

France began to stroke America's hair in an attempt to soothe him. England managed to keep his voice under control as he asked his former colony, "Have you been cutting yourself as well?"

America hesitated before finally nodding. England sighed as he looked France in the eye, and then did something he vowed to never do, "I'm terribly sorry for lashing out at you Francis. If I knew you were only trying to help the situation, I wouldn't have accused you of harassing America."

"It's fine," France assured, and then added, "I think we should head back to the conference room now. We can sort out this problem later."

England nodded, and the three nation began to make their way back to the conference room. They all made sure to act as if everything was fine so that no one else would become suspicious in the hopes that the wrong nation never end up finding out. However, around the corner stood a certain albino. One that managed to remain unnoticed by the three nation during their conflict. He heard every word.


	15. Chapter 15

It didn't take too long for the rest of the nations other than England, France, and America to arrive in the conference room. Since the nations were either lacked enthusiasm, or had all of their attention absorbed in the meeting that was about to continue, it would've been nearly impossible for them to determine any potential slip ups in England's, France's, and America's act. Even if they did happen to detect any mysterious behavior from the three nations, it wouldn't have mattered at all. England was clever with words, so he would've just found a way to mask the truth with a conceivable lie. With the backup plans in mind, there was no reason for the three nations to feel anxious about their secret being revealed. Another nation would never end up finding out. That's what they believed, and there was much faith in that single view. At least, that was how England and France felt about the whole situation. America, on the other hand, could only feel dread at the idea of losing control over his personal information. The whole waiting game was beyond nerve wracking to him, and could only make him admire how England and France were able to remain serene about the whole situation.

As America continued to think about it, he was eventually able to come up with a reason for the two older nation's tranquil aurora, _I guess they have been around for quite a while now. Not even sure how long, but it was maybe at least one thousand years. They've probably had many tragic situations that required them to have complete control over their emotions and actions, so I guess it would make sense. I wish I had self discipline like that._ America had snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Germany announce, "Now zhat everyone is here, Japan can begin his presentation on his plan to prevent the destruction caused by tsunamis."

"Vait!" Prussia cried out, waving one hand in the air impatiently, "I have somezhing important to tell everyone!"

Germany placed a hand on his forehead with annoyance, and then decided, "You can tell everyone vhat it is once Japan finishes his presentation. Alzhough I don't know vhat you have to say zhat vould be even somevhat relevant to anyone."

Prussia began flailing both of his arms vigorously, and was almost jumping where he stood. This action caused Gilbird to flutter in the albino's hair with unease, and many participants in the meeting gave the giddy nation looks of disapproval at the sudden hyperactive behavior. It was beyond embarrassing, to say the least. When Prussia spoke, his words were almost linked together, he was spilling them out of his mouth with such haste, "No seriously! Everyone needs to hear about zhis right now! I swear, zhere couldn't be anyzhing more important zhan vhat zhe awesome me has to say, so just listen-"

"Nein!" Germany roared, "You vill eizher vait your turn, or leave zhis room! I vill not tolerate any more interruptions! Do I make myself clear!?"

Prussia immediately went silent, and sat back down in his chair. A look of frustration was present on his pale face, and his crimson eyes pierced through the table with with smoldering impatience. It really did make America wonder, _What could possibly be so interesting to Prussia that's making him this anxious to tell everyone? Is there a rumor going around that he heard about? Wait a minute, that must mean-_ For a moment, the young nation almost panicked, but a reassuring thought managed to cross his mind, _No, there's no way anyone could've found out. I mean, I didn't see anyone spying on us, and neither did France or England. Yeah, I think our secret is still safe._

Japan's presentation didn't last too long. At least, it wasn't long enough to cause Prussia to lose his mind from all of the waiting he had forced himself to endure. As soon as Japan sat down in his seat, Prussia stood up and began, "Vell zhe awesome me can finally tell you guys zhat very important news! Do I have everyone's attention yet!?"

"Mein gott Gilbert," Germany groaned, "Just tell us vhat it is already!"

Prussia made sure that all eyes were on him before finally continuing, "Vell it vas during zhe lunch break. I vas just valking down zhe hall because I needed to use zhe bathroom, but zhen, I heard someone vomiting."

Austria cringed in disgust, but managed to keep his tone professional, "I do not zhink zhat anyone needs to hear-"

"Hey! No interruptions!" Prussia scolded, and then proceeded to tell his story, "Anyvays, after I heard zhis person vomiting, I decided to go, and find a different bathroom, but zhen I heard some tension rising between two individuals. It sounded very interesting, so I couldn't help spying on zhem. I just had to see vhat zhe conflict vas all about."

America shifted uneasily in his seat while France grimaced with horror. England was beginning to grow nervous, but still had faith in the situation. Prussia did in fact notice the tension that was rising within the three nations, but continued on anyways without showing any sign of remorse, "Vhen I checked to see vhat zhe feud vas all about, I saw France and America arguing, and zhen England became a part of the conflict zhe moment he saw zhem. It turns out zhat America has an eating disorder _and_ cuts himself! You vould zhink zhat France and England vould just take advantage of America's veakness, but instead zhey vere being all queer about it, and started coddling him! It vas so gay and hilarious! I wish you guys should've seen it!"

A deadly silence filled the room as most of the nations stared at Prussia with nothing more than shock. Eventually, the albino became offended, and snapped, "Vhat? My story vasn't gut enough!? You are all unvorzhy of my of my awesomeness!"

Finally, Germany was able to find his voice as he snarled at Prussia, "I regret even considering bringing you to zhis meeting! Never in a zhousand years vould I have guessed zhat you vould handle such a situation vith absolutely no maturity at all! Do you even realize vhat you just did!?"

"Fine!" Prussia retorted, and walked towards the exit of the conference room, "I know vhen my awesomeness is not appreciated!"

Once Prussia left the room, Lithuania faced America with a worried expression, and inquired, "Why did you do this to yourself, Alfred? There are nations out that care about you!"

Canada gave America a pained look, and nearly wailed, "I wish I knew that you weren't feeling any better. You could've told me about you internal struggle. I would've had no problem helping you."

France glance nervously at England, for the Brit appeared to be on the verge of fainting from all of the negative attention. After what seemed to be an eternity of listening to various nations vent their concerns for America, France finally asked, "Can Amerique, Angleterre, and I be excused from the meeting?"

Germany nodded, his voice full of understanding as he explained, "Since you three seem to be facing a razher important problem of your own, you can be dismissed. Besides, I'd hate to see zhese ozher nations continuously harass America. Just remember to be prepared for zhe next meeting"

"Merci." was all France said in response to Germany's generosity before packing up everything he brought to the meeting. America and England did the same, but with much more haste than the French man. As soon as the three nations had everything organized, and packed into their bags, they left the conference room. All of the questions the other nations asked them were ignored.

When the three nations left the building that hosted the world meeting, France turned to America, and asked, "Would you mind if me and Angleterre stayed at your place tonight?"

America shook his head, "Go ahead."

With that said, France, England, and America waited for the next cab to pull up, and rode in it until they were at the said house. England had been silent the whole trip, and did not say a word when they entered they America's home. This made France even more concerned for the Brit. At last, he decided to ask the shorter nation softly, "Are you feeling alright? You've been very quiet ever since the meeting, and you look extremely uncomfortable."

England turned his head away from France, and stiffened in an attempt to keep himself from breaking down. Eventually, the pressure became too much for him to handle, and with a strangled sob, he lunged forwards, and wrapped his arms tightly around America. The youngest of the three nations didn't know how to react, so he hugged the Brit protectively, hoping that it was the best option for the tense situation. After a few more choked breaths, England began to ramble, "I'm sorry for putting you in this condition! You don't deserve to suffer like this, I do! And- oh Alfred! I'm just so sorry for doing this to you! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please don't forgive me! I don't deserve to be forgiven! I'm a terrible nation!"

Breathing was becoming more of a chore for America. England's grip on him was becoming too intense, it was almost enough to squeeze the air out of the younger nation. France decided to save America from suffocating, and gently pulled the distressed Englishman off of him. England whimpered from the sudden isolation he felt being separated from his former colony, but when he finally noticed the presence of France, he immediately latched onto the nation as if he was his only lifeline. A few moments had passed, and France decided to sit down on the couch. He was still holding England, and allowed the shorter nation to rest his head against his shoulder. France continued to rub soothing circles on the Brit's back until the sobbing stopped, and was replaced by occasional soft snores. Smiling, France held England for a few more moments before finally laying him down on the couch, and pulled a blanket that happened to be in the room on his sleeping form.

After properly dealing with England, France turned to America and stated, "You look very cold Amerique. Are there any other blankets, and if so, where do you keep them?"

America answered while sitting down on a rather comfortable chair across from the couch, "Yes, I do have more blankets. There might be some in the closet of my bedroom, and if you don't know where my bedroom is, it's the last room on the right upstairs."

France nodded in order to express is gratitude, and made his way upstairs. It didn't take too long for him to return with a few thick blankets. America continued to shiver as France wrapped him tightly in the blankets he brought downstairs, and by the time he was finished, the American looked as if he could pass for a pudgy burrito. Soon after America had been wrapped up, his shivering stopped, and for the first time in quite a while, he felt warm. France giggled at his handiwork, and patted America's head as if he were a loved puppy, "You look so cute when you're cocooned in a bunch of blankets Amerique."

America felt his face grow warm with embarrassment at the compliment, but France ignored this, and added, "Well, I'll go make something light for your stomach. I hope that'll make you feel better."

Dread began to develop in the pit of America's stomach as he tried to bury himself further into the blankets. His thoughts became frantic, _No, no, no, no, no! He doesn't get it! I'll become fat if I eat!_ Soon, America began to violently tremble, and his breaths became more rapid until he started to hyperventilate. By the time France had finished making some soup, he walked into the living room to find that America's panic attack had almost reached it's peak. Immediately, France set down the mug of soup he was holding, and ran up to the terrified nation as quickly as he could with a rush of urgency. Holding America's head so that he was facing him, France soothed, "Hey, shh. It's okay."

America continued to stare into France's eyes, his breathing slowing down as the older nation repeated quietly, "It's okay."

It didn't take too long for America to fully relax, and when he was finally able to focus properly, France handed him the mug of soup. America grabbed the mug, and glanced down at the soup for a moment in order to study it's contents, _Well, I guess it isn't the worst thing he could've fed me. There really isn't that much soup._ Slowly, he began to sip the soup out of the mug. Before he knew it, every last drop had been broth had vanished. France retrieved the mug, and nodded with approval, "Très bien. How do you feel now?"

"Better," America replied, "but I do feel very exhausted."

France walked out of the room to take care of the mug, and returned with a smile on his face, "I just want to tell you one more thing tonight, so please listen carefully. It's very important."

America looked at France with interest in his tired eyes. By the time the Frenchman was right in front of him, he knelt down so he was at eye level with the younger nation, and rested one of his hands on the side of the American's face as a sign of pure affection. His voice was low as he finally began, "You will always be a handsome nation in your own unique way," then France paused to plant a light kiss on America's forehead, and added, "Don't let anyone tell you other wise."


	16. Chapter 16

America awoke the next morning with a frigid chill stinging as deep as his bones. It didn't take too long for him to realize that half of the blankets he was wrapped in had fallen off. As soon as he noticed this misplacement, he hastily assembled the covering around his frail body tightly in order to restore some heat. America was about to doze off when the warmth finally settled in after quite a while of waiting patiently for it to return, but instantly flinched awake when he heard someone inquire, "Did you sleep well lad?"

"Yes," America nodded in response after recovering from the slight shock, "but the room could've been a little warmer."

"Warmer?" England tilted his head, and added, "When I woke up this morning, it felt as if we were all stuffed into an oven. At first I thought France was just trying to make us miserable. Although it didn't take me too long to realize that he must have turned up the heat for your sake."

Then the Brit smiled with amusement, "Considering the fact that you were practically a cocoon of blankets this morning."

America couldn't have cared less for how he looked in a pile of blankets, he just wanted to stay warm. Which was not at all an easy task for him considering his condition. Eventually England's amusement was replaced by a smile that contained nothing more than forlorn as he questioned, "Are you really this cold all of the time?"

America nodded, "It feels like it takes a lot to keep me warm now a days for whatever reason, and I don't understand why. It's not a big deal though. I'm kind of used to the cold feeling, ya know?"

The tiny grin that England had tried to keep up finally faltered at those words. Feeling as if the conversation would only fill his his heart with more sorrow, he decided to change the topic, "I have something to say about yesterday."

"And what would that be?" America inquired as he watched England nervously look around the room. It was clear to the American that the Brit was uncomfortable with his word choice when he spoke, "I'm sorry about all of the drama I caused yesterday. I don't know what came over me, but it was no excuse to lose my composure, and worry you as such."

"It's fine, really." America reassured, and explained, "you don't need to feel ashamed. If anyone caused a lot drama yesterday, it was definitely Prussia."

England cringed with disgust at the mention of the name. America could feel the waves of rancor radiate off of the now angered Brit as he began to rant, "I swear, I never want to see that albino ever again. After what he did. It was just so inconsiderate and low! There was nothing you did to deserve such humiliation! Also, what is with his constant abuse for the word awesome!? It is not an appealing word at all, and the fact that he practically says the word in every sentence becomes far too annoying! There's no way I could describe how much his word choice bothers me! I just wish I could slaughter that stupid narcissist!"

"Wow," America's azure eyes widened in awe, "I mean, I'm not really a huge fan of Prussia after what he did yesterday, but don't you think you're taking it a little too far?"

Casually, England replied, "No, taking it too far would be going to his house, and murdering him in his sleep. I was merely expressing how much I disliked him. Besides, wishing ill will, or death, or any negative covet upon someone is possibly the worst form of revenge someone could even consider using. It never works since you never get to have the satisfaction of forcing your point across to them."

 _Well you're always trying to act like a gentleman, so isn't it low for you to want revenge on anyone?_ America had wanted to ask the question, but knew perfectly well that the outcome would only lead to what he deemed a pointless argument. If it hadn't been for the condition he was in, a quarrel with England would still be one of his favorite pastimes. The sudden change in personality always did make America wonder, _Can major depression alter someone's personality? Maybe it's just me, but it feels as if I've been acting a lot more like Canada lately. I mean, he always refrains from using negative terms against others, and when was the last time I've ever seen him participate in an argument? Was there actually a time when that sweet nation had malicious thoughts?_

An awkward silence evaporated into the living room's atmosphere as America continued to examine his thoughts. Eventually, the younger nation became aware that his former mentor had been waiting for him to respond. He decided to ask, "So where's France?"

It was as if England had forgotten about his pique for Prussia, for his voice contained a casual hum when he answered, "France just left a few minutes ago. He said that there was an absence of fresh food in the kitchen, and that most of the items in the fridge had expired, so went out to get some groceries."

 _Oh look! Someone's decided to waste their money on you!_ America's inner critic jeered, _That just makes you feel wonderful, doesn't it? Greedy pig!_ If the young nation didn't already feel slightly ashamed by the idea that anyone would offer him charity, his inner critic managed to set him over the edge with violent stabs of guilt. It was almost to the point where America wanted to tear off his own skin. After all, the dermis that held him together, and practically represented him in a unique, physical way was becoming itchy from the empowering shame that washed over his body. He flinched when England asked, "Are you okay Alfred? You just suddenly became so distant."

America turned his gaze towards England, and assured, "I'm fine."

"Whatever you say," England replied with obvious ambivalence. Then he decided to change the topic, "By the way, you've been asleep for quite a while. It's nearly noon."

"Wait what?" America questioned, his eyes widened with shock. England nodded, an amused smile plastered on his face, "You must have been exhausted."

America glared at England with a look of disappointment, "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You just looked so peaceful," England explained, "I didn't want to disturb you."

 _I don't care if I looked peaceful, you still could've woke me up,_ America thought with resentment as he tried his best to restrain himself from actually saying the words. Of course, he managed to do so successfully, but then sighed when he realized, _I guess it doesn't matter, you wouldn't have let me exercise anyways. Besides, nothing else interests me, so I practically have no reason to even live today. No reason to live at all._ He closed his eyes, and snuggled into silky fabric that made up his nest of blankets. The warmth that nuzzled his cheek was enough to drag his mind into a comforting daze. Which allowed him to forget his negative thoughts, and turn his focus from any outside distraction that caused his emotions any harm. However, the sensation didn't last too long, for America awoke from his short trance when he heard England voice, "Are you going to sleep already?"

"I'm tired." America mumbled as he closed his eyes once more. England observed his former colony's condition for a few moments before finally saying, "Well, if you're tired. I guess you can take a nap."

England sat down on the couch, and began to read a book he happened to have with him. He ended up reading it the whole time he waited for France to arrive. It was in fact the most intriguing book he had read in quite a while, so absorbing that when he heard the front door suddenly open, he flinched, and braced himself. He looked up, only to see that it was just France. England thought with embarrassment, _I wish all of those wars didn't make me so jumpy. Oh well. There's nothing wrong with being prepared, I guess._ England decided to walk over to France, and ask, "So, what did you decide to get America?"

They both continued to amble until they were in the kitchen as France began, "Well I bought some fruit, vegetables, milk, yogurt, a little bit of cheese, eggs, flour, and some other ingredients I usually use for cooking."

"I think you're going to have to make the yogurt thinner," England explained, "it's just too thick. Maybe you could use it in something like a smoothie?"

France gawked at the shorter nation as if he grew a third arm. England interpreted the silent insult immediately, and snapped, "Oh come on! Don't tell me you're shocked that I know an ingredient to a simple recipe! My cooking is not nearly that ghastly!"

After a moment of silence, France suggested, "Maybe we should have America make the smoothies, just to be safe."

"No! Bloody git!" England nearly yelled, "Seriously, are you really this stupid? It's obvious that having America cook would set him on off the edge! Besides, he'd manipulate the meal just for the sake of his inhumane diet!"

The harsh words held no effect on France's mood whatsoever as he replied, "Sorry, I guess I wasn't thinking. Of course America wouldn't want to cook anything right now. For some reason I thought that would help him."

"That's not at all what you were thinking!" England scowled, "You were indirectly trying to prevent me from preparing any food! Just go away and let me make the damn smoothies!"

France left England alone in the kitchen without saying another word. He didn't want to anger the Brit any further. It did seem to be the most logical thing for the France man to do based off his experience with the Brit. However, the tactic proved to be ineffective, for the moment England had finished making the smoothies, he stormed out of the kitchen, and into the living room where France sat patiently on the couch. By the time he was only a few inches away from France, he glowered, and held out a smoothie in front of him, "Why don't you just tell me how I managed to miraculously burn this still nearly frozen smoothie?"

"Calm down Angleterre," France tried his best to hide the laughter in his voice, "It looks just fine."

England continued to glare at France, "You're being sarcastic, aren't you?"

"You're so controlling," France finally allowed himself to laugh, "if I thought you did terrible, I would've told you so."

France and England turned their attention towards America as the youngest of the nations demanded drowsily, "Do you guys think you could keep it down? I'm trying to sleep."

"Oh, well we were about to wake you up anyways," England explained, "I made you a smoothie."

"I'm not hungry." America replied quickly, hiding his face under the blankets. England walked over to kneel down next to America, and held out the he happened to still be holding smoothie to him, "I understand that you're not feeling hungry right now, but you do need to eat something."

America lifted his head, and shook it violently, his voice quivering, "I don't want to."

With his free hand, England wrapped an arm around the American's lean shoulders, and assured, "I know you can face this challenge, even if food has become your biggest fear, but please do eat it."

America gazed into England's eyes before finally nodding, and began to procrastinate on eating his meal. Gradually, the pace in which he consumed the smoothie began to pick up, and by the time he was nearly finished, he was practically chugging it down. England smiled with approval, and when America handed him the cup, and then he asked, "Are you still tired?"

"Yes," America answered quietly, and added, "but I can still stay awake."

England replied, "No, go ahead and sleep if you're tired."

America buried himself deeper into the blankets in order to achieve a comfortable position, which was not a challenge at all. Before he dozed off, the words France had told him had been repeated in his head, _You will always be a handsome nation in your own way. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise._ America analyzed that words for quite a while before he mentally questioned, _Is what France told me true? Am I trully a handsome nation, or was he just lying to make me feel better?_ It was his inner critic who answered the question, _You know perfectly well what the answer to that question is_ _, idiot._

Meanwhile England and France were hanging out in the kitchen, taking care of the dishes that had been used for the smoothies. When they had finally finished, France stated, "You know Angleterre, I never noticed that you had such a motherly nature. I guess you do an excellent job of hiding it from everyone with your bitter attitude."

"I'm only bitter to you git," England scowled clearly offended by France's comment, "because your the only nation that gives me stupid labels that do not describe me at all."

"Don't take it personally," France replied, "it wasn't suppose to be an insult. You truly are a motherly figure, and that's what Amerique needs. I think you should be thrilled that you're able to help him out with such a talent."

England suppressed an annoyed sigh, "I'll never be as feminine as you portray me. Just keep that in mind, please."

France laughed, "I don't care, I still love you."

Resisting the urge to lunge at France, England retorted, "That doesn't mean I love you back, and don't you dare think I ever will."

France embraced the Brit, and smiled, "Whatever you say, mon petit lapin."

For a moment, England grimaced at the touch, but forced himself it relax as he thought, _I guess I can tolerate the stupid frog's affection, for now. As long as he doesn't take it too far._


	17. Chapter 17

One week passed since France and England began their attempt to heal America's internal wounds. The youngest of the three nations did not change too much in the short period of time. He still did fear food quite a bit, and there had been a few incidence where he would panic to the point of needing to be restrained when he was confronted with a portion of food that was as simple as a morsel. Every rib on his body still protruded in a deleterious way, and it was clear that the American had hardly gained any weight since he was forced to stop his brutal diet. There was another factor that only seemed to add more horror to the already nightmarish situation, America still had unbearable urges to cut himself, and it was to the point where the lack of pain would sometimes send him through spasms of perturbation. On the bright side of things, America's body was gradually adapting to the soft food intake, and was capable of ingesting slightly larger quantities of food. Overall, there had been a tiny improvement to the young nation's condition. Which was enough to set England, and France's mind to ease, knowing that their support was helping the precious American in some way. Of course, they refused to let their guard down, in case the healing process happened to reverse it's progress during a dreadful relapse.

Another improvement that France and England appreciated very much was the fact that America had restored some energy, and was able to walk around for short periods of time without collapsing. Of course, the frail nation had requested permission many times to undertake more intense exercises such as running, but the desire had been declined every single time. France and England loathed seeing the pained expression on America's face whenever he was not allowed to feed his aspiration, but they knew that it was only for the best. The two older nations also tried to make sure that they expressed compassion when they had to deny one of America's unreasonable requests, but it wasn't always easy. Sometimes, the wrong words would slip out, and do nothing more than drown the young nation in despair. France and England clearly weren't professionals when it came to consoling the side effects of a neglected habit, so no one could expect a miracle.

America was currently sitting on the couch, and since he found absolutely nothing interesting at that moment, random items around the room had become his unique form of entertainment. Then again, perhaps it couldn't be considered entertainment if the American was not interested in anything at all, but instead the objects were only his lousy attempt for to obtain some amusement during his seemingly never ending leisure. In which, they had failed to accomplish their assigned job, but that came to no surprise to the America. It wasn't the first time he had felt completely deprived from his will to live, and it would definitely not be his last. After about an hour of this behavior, England finally decided to ask America, "Is something bothering you, or are you just extremely bored?"

"I'm not sure if I could call this boredom," America began, "nothing is bothering me at the moment. I don't really feel bored either, but I'm not interested in anything. Seriously, nothing interests me anymore, and it's very disturbing. I hate feeling numb all of the time, but there's nothing I can do about. Since you still want me to exist."

"Feeling numb is a symptom of chronic depression," England explained, and then sat down next to America, and gave him a sympathetic look before adding, "I'm sorry you feel this way, and I hope you're able to venture past this stage soon."

 _He has no idea how terrible it is to be immune to all feelings of happiness, does he? Of course he doesn't. I mean, that's why he's giving me that hopeless sympathy, right?_ America thought bitterly as he examined his former mentor's expression. Then he replied, "I don't think this numb feeling will ever go away. It's been a part of me for three months now, and only proceeds to get worse. There really is nothing that can be done about it."

England shook his head in disagreement, "There's always hope, Alfred. Francis and I will not give up on you. We will try to our best to recover your cheerful self. I don't care if it takes a few months, a few years, or even a century. We will make you smile once more."

 _To bad he can't keep that promise,_ America's inner critic sneered, _you'll never feel a pinch of happiness while I'm still controlling you, and I won't leave you alone until you're dead!_ His heart ached with dread from the harsh comment. America lowered his head in an attempt to hold back his tears, but failed to hide the agony in his voice, "No, you don't understand. As long as I live I will always be tormented by my flaws. I can't be happy."

England rested a hand on America's shoulder, and questioned, "I know something is bothering you. Can you please tell me what it is?"

America turned his head away from England as tears finally spilled from his eyes, "I already said that you wouldn't understand."

France entered the room, and observed the sight before him. He then decided to sit down at the opposite side of the couch from England, and asked, "What's wrong Amerique?"

The younger nation remained silent, and refused to acknowledge France's presence. When England realized that America was not going to answer the question, he stated, "Don't keep it to yourself America. If something is eating at you, you'll feel better if you express what it is. Eventually it will stop bothering you as much, and we'll know how to help you fully recover from whatever the problem happens to be."

America protested, "But you'll think I'm crazy if I tell you."

England assured, "We're not trying to make you feel ashamed. Please, just tell us what it is."

There was a moment of silence before America finally conveyed, "Well there's this voice that always criticizes me. It yells at me every time I feel confident, and shuns me for my every flaw. Sometimes it tells me that I need to lose more weight, while at other times it tells me that I'm starving my people. It has even told me to kill myself a few times."

Another moment of silence followed after America's words as England and France processed what the younger nation had just told them. A shocked expression was present on both of their face's. Once France was over the disturbance, he questioned, "Are you sure that this is a voice you are hearing, and that all of this criticism is not what you've been telling yourself?"

The flow of America's tears became more rabid as he finally sobbed, "I don't know anymore."

America nestled against England as the Brit enveloped his arms around the frail nation. By the time America finally settled down, France asked him, "Would you like me to invite your brother over? His presence might help."

"Please do," America croaked, "I miss him so much."

France retrieved his phone from his pocket, and quickly sent Canada a text. After a few minutes of practically staring at the screen, he turned to America and England, then stated, "He'll come over in a week."

"That's good," England replied, and then added to America, "Meanwhile, I think you should tell us whenever that voice is bothering you, or at least try to distract yourself from it."

"About that voice," France began, and then asked, "when did this voice start speaking to you, and for how long has it been doing so?"

America shrugged, "About four months maybe? I'm really not sure, it just came out of nowhere. I just lost track of time as soon as I began to hear the voice."

"I really think you're criticizing yourself, "France concluded, and then added, "and that the self censure has grown out of hand to the point where it might feel as if someone else is attacking your ego. Maybe if you stand up to this cynical voice, you'll be able to rid of it's presence for good. Of course there's a possibility that the situation is more complicated than I portrayed it, but it's worth a try, non?"

The young nation did not bother hiding the irresolution as he countered, "The voice is just too powerful. There's no way that telling it off will make it disappear forever."

"Well, I know this is rare for me, but I have to agree with France," England chimed in, "Maybe if you did stand up to the voice, it would learn to back off. The critic does seem to be a component of your mind, so it should be easy to control once you regain complete power over that internal battle of yours. It was a clever suggestion, and I really do think you should try it at least a few times before giving up on the option."

America protested, "But the voice is so powerful. Do you guys even know what it's like to deal with this tyrant every minute of the day? Don't you two see why I want to end my life so badly? It's because there is no way for me to eliminate this voice. Once it's there, it's there for good. As I said before, the longer I live the more menacing the voice becomes. Death really is the only way out."

England silently listened to America's rant of anguish. The pain in his jade eyes was equivalent to that of a mother who had just discovered their child's disinterest for living. America continued, ignoring the pained reactions he received, "I"m a burden to every nation alive. I have ruined everyone's economies. I can't live for my own sake, and I hold absolutely no purpose to those around me. There is no reason for me to continue living."

"America," England's affirm left behind a pang of desperation that radiated into the core of the other two nations, one that could bring a desolate, dark tunnel to shame. The island nation was practically pleading at that point, "I don't think you realize how much you're loved. Please, I'm not joking."

A glint of doubt reflected from the American's eyes as he gazed lifelessly at his former mentor. Something inside of the Brit broke at the reaction as his eyes began to glaze over. There was a quiver to his implore, "P-please. There m-must be something to live for. Can you at least live for me? W-what about your brother? Blimey! He would be devastated if you died."

The words seemed to have touched America as he began to mentally reconsider, _Wait, maybe there are people who would miss me if I died. Should I really plan on killing myself?_ The hope vanished immediately as his inner critic snarled, _Those 'cared' about you would eventually be over your death as soon as they realized how irrelevant you were to their life._ He glanced at England, and remarked, "You can't mean that."

"Alfred," England gasped in disbelief. Tears finally slid from his eyes as he demanded, "Don't you dare even think about killing yourself!"

Despite his pained expression, France was able to maintain his assuring tone, "I'm sure that as long as we're caring and firm, Amerique will be fine in the end. We'll just have to make sure to supervise him at all times, in case he does try to harm himself. Even if we have to admit him to the hospital, I'm sure we'll find a way."

"I don't want America to go to the hospital," England nearly snapped, "the doctors will probably make the situation worse for him. There's no way they could understand how fragile his mental state is."

"Well, we'll try, but I doubt the doctors would be too cruel to Amerique," France replied hugging America affectionately as he added to the young nation, "I'm sure you'll feel better one day. Just don't forget that there's always hope."

England continued to beg the younger nation, "No matter how terrible things become, please don't give up."

 _That won't be an easy promise to keep._ America thought darkly.


	18. Chapter 18

**Sorry about not updating in a while, I just needed a break from writing this story. This is definitely the longest story I've ever written. In fact it's so long that I had to create another word doc for it since the first one is becoming too laggy. That's quite an accomplishment in my opinion. Anyways, I'll stop rambling now.**

* * *

Yet again, another week had passed by at a sluggish speed. Nothing new ever happened. Life had become nothing more than a dull waste of time. The lack of excitement was irksome to America, but he didn't complain, for he knew that his life could become much worse at any given moment. He could never adapt to the cruel pattern. Even though it was the only criterion of life he knew, and his knowledge of it was stellar. America began a personal debate of annoyance in his mind, _Well I have two older nations that won't let me end the worsening misery I'm going through, and there's no living being in this world who knows how to end my depression. as so it feels. If that isn't bad enough, then certainly my disinterest in EVERYTHING under the sun is enough to set me over the edge. Let's face, things really can't get any worse, and I don't care if I just jinxed it! As far as I know, everything I do gets me jinxed!_

America snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a knock on the door. Before he could react, he witnessed France walking over to the front door immediately. While doing so, the Frenchman announced with excitement, "That must be Mattieu!"

As soon as France opened the door, Canada walked in, and began, "Sorry about not being able to come over earlier. I was just extremely busy."

France ignored the apology, and embraced the younger nation as he chirped, "It's great to see you, mon cher! How have you been?"

"I've been doing just fine papa," Canada replied nervously, but was still clearly pleased to see France. It didn't take long for the shy nation to notice America, and when he did his smile grew wider as greeted, "Hey America, have you been feeling any better lately?"

America answered in a monotone, "No."

Canada's smile faltered as he stated, "Well I hope you feel better soon."

 _I wish everyone would stop saying that._ America thought with annoyance. He wanted to express his despair for the situation to his brother, but remained silent in the fear of sounding greedy for attention. Canada approached America, concern dwelled in his vocalization as he inquired, "Do you think you could tell me what's been making you feel terrible lately?"

America mentally groaned with annoyance, but he was still restraining the urge to vent, _Why is he pestering me about this? It's like he wants me to be the center of his attention._ He cringed as a pesky recurring thought struck him once more, _Everyone won't stop giving me so much attention all the time. Are they trying to make me feel selfish? I wish they would stop. Besides, it's not like I had a single hour to myself since they discovered my 'problem' a second time._ A tender Canadian accent snapped him back into reality, "Alfred? Are you feeling okay?"

America turned to face Canada, and nodded, "I'm fine. Just zoned out for a moment, that's all."

"You're not fine," Canada stated innocently, "You didn't even answer my previous question. Can you tell me what's been making you feel this way lately?"

 _England and France will probably tell him anyways, if they haven't already. Might as well tell him, I guess._ Canada listened patiently as America explained plainly, "Well, I have a constant disinterest in everything, and there's this stupid voice, or critic, or whatever you want to call it that won't stop nagging me. You know, nothing that can be fixed, so I do't know why you even asked."

"Of course it can be cured," Canada replied, his tone surprisingly confident, "I know you've probably heard this many times, even from me, but there's always hope. Sorry if you're sick of hearing it, but it's true."

There was a moment of silence, and soon, England had entered the room. At the sight of Canada, he greeted, "Hello Amer- I'm mean…. what's your name again? Oh right, Canada. Sorry."

France rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed by the Englishman's lack of comprehension at the moment. Canada on the other hand did not feel indignant at the lousy greeting as he assured, "You don't have to be sorry. At least you recalled my name this time."

"Hey Matthieu," France began, "could I have a word with you in private for a moment?"

Canada became extremely confused by the request, but nodded and followed France until they were completely out of earshot from the other two nations. France seemed to be extremely hesitant when he asked, "Um, this won't be too much for you, right? Are you sure you're not going to relapse?"

"I'll be fine," Canada assured, "as I said before, I'll never hurt myself again."

France inquired with uncertainty, "Are you sure?"

Canada nodded, and France sighed, "Well, I guess I'll take your word for it."

There was a moment of silence before France decided to ask, "So how do you plan on helping Amerique while you're here? Do you have any ideas?"

"Well," Canada began, "I was thinking about walking a short distance with him on a hiking trail in the woods. It wouldn't be too much exercise, and some fresh air might make him feel at least a little better."

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea," France nodded his head in agreement, and added, "Also, thank you for trying to help out your brother. You've grown up to be such a compassionate nation."

Canada felt himself blush at the compliment as he replied nervously, "No problem."

* * *

It was approximately one hour since Canada and France had their private conversation, and Canada was currently walking through the woods with his brother. The trail they were on was absent of any other individual's presence. Instead, the peaceful aura of wildlife occupied them. America was not having any conversation with his brother at all, so it wasn't as if he cared about whether they were alone or not. At least, not until an idea popped into his head. Excitement fluttered within America as he asked Canada, "Do you think I could go leak the lizard real quick?"

"What? In the woods?" Canada questioned disapprovingly, also disturbed by the metaphor America decided to use, "Why didn't you go before hand?"

"I did like five minutes before we left," America defended with a plea, "but I really have to go now. You know I my bladder can be very weak at times."

Canada thought the situation over for a moment before finally sighing, "Fine, you can go. Just don't take too long."

"Okay, thanks!" America exclaimed with a smile of gratitude before dashing off into the woods. The sudden dart caused Canada to flinch as he yelled out, "Hey wait! Why are you going so far into the woods!?"

America didn't even bother to slow down as he yelled back, "I can't pee if you're watching me!"

Canada only rolled his eyes, and remained where he stood as he began to wait patiently for his brother to return Although, he couldn't help but feel suspicious. Meanwhile, America continued to trudge through the forest as his thoughts became more elated, _If I remember correctly, there's a gully in this forest that's pretty deep with a waterfall nearby. I do believe that there are some large boulders in the middle of the river. If the plan works, I should be able to either break my neck, bleed out from cracking my head open on one of the rocks, or just drown. It might be extremely painful, but the agony won't last too long, will it?_

By the time America finally reached his destination, he glanced down at the river when he realized that his memory was in fact correct. Despite the tears that were beginning to slide down his face, the American smiled as he whispered, "Well, this is it. No more suffering. No more eating. No more exercising. No more troubles. Ha ha, surely I should feel more relieved?"

America continued to observe the river, and then a cruel realization hit him. He felt his legs begin to tremble as his heart began to race as if it was being chased by the panic and dread that began to attack his waning comfort levels. At last, he finally exclaimed in a nearly inaudible whimper, "Oh no! There's no way this plan could possibly work! I mean, what are the chances that I'll land head first into the water, or that the current will be strong enough to keep me under? Besides, the water is probably not deep enough. Why didn't I think this through?"

 _Who cares if your idiot plan might not work?_ The inner critic growled, _The point is, you're finally getting rid of yourself. If you really have to, breath in the water until you lose consciousness. Now stop sulking, and just finish the job already!_ America nodded, and slowly began to walk towards the edge of the gully. The action continued to drag on, and the troubled nation only became more hesitant. Suddenly, a voice worried cried out from behind him, causing America to freeze in place immediately, "Alfred! What are you doing!?"

America didn't respond, nor did he bother to see who had just cried out to him. He was caught red handed in the action, and that was all there was to it. The owner of the voice who had just cried out to him did not take anymore than a few seconds to dash to where he was standing. Once America was finally over the shock, he figured out that whoever had just interrupted his plans was none other than his brother Canada. He should've known. Urgency flooded Canada's desperate interrogation towards America, "Oh America, you weren't about to jump to your death, were you? Was that what you were about to do!?"

 _Stop stalling and get the damn job done already! Who cares if your brother is around to witness it!? Just do it!_ The inner critic snarled. At that point, America had lost all awareness to his surroundings, which caused him to yell out with defeat, "SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP ALREADY!"

At last, America's legs buckled, and he fell to the ground. Canada watched the sight before him in a frightful fashion. There his brother laid. Curled into himself, and choking out agonizing sobs. The sight was beyond pitiful, and only created more hurt and confusion within the Canadian as he continued to watch his brother in such a miserable state. Eventually, Canada decided to kneel down next to America, and ask gently, "Alfred?"

The sobs became less violent, as if America was comforted at the sound of his brother's voice. However, Canada didn't know what else to say, so he began to massage one of his brother's shoulders. in hopes of calming the distressed nation. By the time his breathing had resumed to normal, America wailed quietly, "Matthew…."

Canada assured, "It's okay Alfred, I'm here."

Eventually, America began to grow drowsy. Canada noticed this, and asked, "Would you mind if I carried you home?"

America shook his weakly, and mumbled, "No."

Immediately after receiving the permission, Canada easily lifted his brother bridal style as if he weighed as much as a student's backpack, which surprised him quite a bit. Of course, he had the discipline not to comment on America's weight. Canada continued to walk through the woods, and back onto the trail, America had eventually fallen asleep with his head snuggled against the currently stronger nation's chest, who had once in fact a lot weaker than him in the past. Canada gave America a sad smile, and whispered to him, "I hope you get well soon."

* * *

The doorbell rang, and France was the one to answer the door. Only to be met with that of a certain Canadian who looked as if he was trying to hold back tears as he held his sleeping brother. France stepped aside, and continued to hold the door for Canada as the younger nation began to make his way inside. Canada walked up stairs in order to tuck America under the covers of his bed in his bedroom, and returned to the living room. His amethyst eyes began to flood with tears as he continued to stare at the ground. France approached the younger nation, and asked with concern, "What's wrong?"

The tears that had been building up within Canada's eyes finally spilled. His response was nothing more than a strangles stutter, "H-he….he tried to….to…."

France embraced Canada, and soothed, "Oh non Mattieu. Ne pleurer pas."

By the time Canada regained control over his voice, he finally recited the statement with ease, "He tried to kill himself."

"WHAT!?" England exclaimed, who just happened to enter the room as soon as those words had left Canada's mouth, "Did America try to kill himself again!?"

Canada nodded, and France shot England a pained glare, "Again? You never told me he tried it before!"

England ignored the accusation as he mumbled to himself, "My cute little America….how can the world be this cruel?"

There was a moment of silence before Canada finally stated, "Maybe America's depression is just beyond our control. Perhaps it would be best if we had him hospitalized, or at least brought him to a psychologist?"

"I don't want to bring him to a therapist!" England scowled. France agreed with less hostility, "The psychologist might ask him questions that are too personal. What happens if Amerique ends up telling them that he's a country? I highly doubt that would go over well."

Canada was beginning to grow desperate for a solution, "Well, can we at least start giving him some anti-depressants?"

England shook his head in despair, "Those don't always work. Besides, he could end up overdosing on them."

Canada's voice cracked with a sob, "Well then what are we going to do!?"

"I don't know," France admitted, "We're just going to have to try our best. Meanwhile, let's just be glad that he's a nation, and that it will take a lot more than a suicide attempt to kill him."

After that was said, no one spoke a single word to each other for the rest of the day.


	19. Chapter 19

**Yes, I know. It's been a while since I've last updated. I had to study for the semester exams, multiple plot bunnies kept popping, and I just couldn't help but write them down, and the fact that I have S.A.D. as put me off this story for a while. Now that all of that's out of the way, I should be able to update this story more often. Can't wait till March finally arrives. Stories are always fun to right in the spring.**

* * *

America awoke as light from the autumn's sun continued to shine through the bedroom window, and invade his closed eyes. Of course, he could've shielded himself from the sun's light with a blanket, but he didn't quite enjoy covering any part of his head with a thick overlay such as the one he currently had. America figured that since it already seemed to be late into the day, he would just wake up despite how tired he was. Light, if only it could be ignored as easily as almost every other visible object in the universe.

A rather cheery voice caused America to flinch, "Good morning mon cher. Did you sleep well?"

Of course, life always found a way to annoy the young nation. Especially when he was already in quite an exasperated state. America glanced over at France, who was holding a plate of food and a glass of orange juice. The American was not in the mood for any company, and the fact that food happened to be involved didn't help at all. France set down the breakfast on America's lap, and placed the orange juice down next to the alarm clock. After that, he glanced out the window and stated, "It's a nice day outside, non?"

America hummed his response, clearly not interested in the random statement as he glared at the food on his lap. France looked over at the younger nation, and inquired, "Is something wrong?"

"No," America answered, "Just a little tired."

France tried his best to sound encouraging, "Well, maybe that pancake will help you feel better. Matthieu cooked it, so I know it tastes good."

Reluctantly, America began to eat the pancake, knowing perfectly well he didn't have a choice no matter how much he resisted. France watched the American eat as he continued his attempt to create a conversation, "Well I was thinking that maybe the two of us could spend some time together today. Not in a romantic way since I know Angleterre wouldn't be okay with that. Unless of course that's what you want."

There was no doubt about it. The suggestion was by far the most embarrassing thing America had heard anyone say, but at least he was now paying attention to the conversation. Which happened to be France's only incentive at the moment. With a sigh of vexation, America explained, "France, I have no idea why you would even think of coming up with a suggesting like that, but it's obvious that I don't want to have anything to do with you romantically. Seriously dude, don't you ever think before you speak?"

"Don't take it personally," France laughed, "I was merely pulling your leg, and apparently it worked. Seeing as I now have your full attention."

Hope began to pluck at America internally as he suddenly blurted, "Wait, so does that mean that you're not going to spend the day with me?"

"Oh your words wound me," France remarked sarcastically, clearly not afflicted by America's rudeness, "Of course I'm going to be spending the day with you. England and Canada both decided that it'd be for the best, and besides, I've made some plans."

 _Oh boy._ America rolled his eyes, and asked with absolutely no enthusiasm, "What type of plans do you have in mind? Nothing that involves eating a bunch of 'fancy' foods, right?"

"No," France replied, "but I do plan on taking you to a nice restaurant. Don't worry about it too much. I won't make you eat two large meals, or anything like that. I'm sure you'll have fun."

"Okay," America responded, losing his patience, "Seriously, are we going to do anything else besides eating?"

"Well of course," France's reply was perky, "We could go to a park, watch a movie, and maybe even go to the beach, since the weather outside is rather warm today. What would you like to do?"

At last, America gained some positive interest in the conversation, "The beach sounds like fun, but there aren't really any new movies that seem interesting."

Once America had finished guzzling his orange juice, he glanced down at his empty plate, and immediately began to feel queasy. The only thought that came up in his mind was, _Did I really eat all of that?_ France seemed to take notice of the tensions building up within the younger nation, and asked, "Is everything alright?"

America nodded, "Yes, I just need to use the bathroom real quick."

Before France could say anything, America began to dash off towards the bathroom. Once he arrived to the safety of his destination, he quickly locked the door, and knelled down in front of the toilet. Sweat began to build up from all of the pressure, as the food he had just eaten began to weigh his stomach down. _Oh god,_ he thought frantically, _It's starting to feel like huge rock. I need to get this disgusting food out of me._ America began to shove his index and middle finger down his throat. He began to retch, but nothing came out, so he tried shoving his fingers down his throat again. This time, making sure to go deeper. Suddenly, America felt someone grab both of his arms, in order to stop him from causing any damage to himself. The young nation turned to see who was restraining, only to discover France gazing at him with an unreadable expression. His tone was soft as he scolded, "Non Amerique, there will be none of that."

With a shocked expression, America inquired, "Um, how exactly did you manage to unlock the door so quickly, and without me noticing?"

There was a moment of silence before France finally smirked, "Trust me, you don't want to know."

"France," America began with slight annoyance, "This isn't what I think it is. Is it?"

"Well," France replied thoughtfully, "I do seem to have a specialty for bathroom and bedroom doors. Perhaps that's enough information to help you figure this out?"

At last, America managed to free his arms from France's grip as he retorted, "Oh my god France. Can't you go one hour without coming up with a perverted remark?"

"Yes, I could." France answered, "I just choose not to."

 _I think I'm starting to understand how England feels now._ With a sigh. America tried to reason, "Look France, do you think you could lay off with trying to annoy me? You know I'm going through a hard time right now, so please try to act more civil."

"My apologies. I should've known better." France replied, then smiled as he stated, "I might sound old for saying this, but it surprises me how mature you've become over the past few years."

Upon hearing this compliment, America became silent. Never in his entire life had he been so confused. Thus began his internal consultation, _Mature? How in the world did I become more mature? If anything, I think I've degraded in that skill. For crying out loud, I fell victim to a disorder that only teenaged girls are suppose to have. Not only that, but it feels like I have little control over most of my behaviors. I can't even control my own self-esteem, and aren't people my age supposed to be able to do that? France is obviously bluffing, there's no way a whiny freak like me could be mature._ America could have continued the hurtful rant within his head, but decided to stop himself from losing it when he heard France say, "Come on now, let's get ready to go to the beach."

* * *

America trudged out of the water, shivering as a chill began to settle deep into his bones. However, the lack of heat the water seemed to provide wasn't the only reason he was shivering. His body was currently being exposed, which made him nervous as to what France might think of his figure. America continued to stare at his stomach in shame, and poked at the thin layers of fat that happened to be present. It was quite a bit to him, but everyone else would've thought his waist was too tiny. Just thin enough to make most people wish for him to gain some weight.

After a while of poking at the non existent fat, America suddenly dashed towards the stack of towels he brought along, and wrapped the largest one he could find around himself, in order to hide his 'flabby' frame. However, the embarrassment he felt refused to wane, but instead became worse when France decided to speak to him, "Amerique, what are you so worried about? I'm the only one who's with you on this beach, and if there were other stranger lingering around, they wouldn't pick on you for your appearance. I've already told you multiple times that you're a handsome nation, so what are you nervous about?"

America answered, "I just feel so bloated right now."

France sighed. He had given America the same lecture quite a few times now, and even when it did seem to work, it also somehow managed to become forgotten over the course of a few hours by the younger nation. Yet France still managed to keep his patience as he explained, "Your appearance should never determine whether you're worthy or not, especially as a nation. Everyone loves you for who you are, not what you look like."

America glared at France as he snapped, "I've heard that line so many times. Why can't you be more original?"

"You want original?" France questioned as if the whole conversation wasn't turning into an argument, "Well then, here's something that might urk some interest. Has it ever occurred to you that someone can be hated for being attractive?"

 _Well, I never really did think about it that way._ America thought, and then inquired, "Are you talking about jealousy?"

"I guess, in a way," France mused, "but you can still like someone if your jealous of them. I'm talking about envying someone to the point where you'll do anything just to be better than them, and I mean anything."

America asked, "Don't you think that's a bit extreme?"

"Nations do it all the time," France shrugged, "The point is, there's always going to be someone who hates you, and someone who just can't live without you. That's just how life works."

"Okay, you've proved your point," America couldn't help but smile, "Now do you think you could return to being, as England would put it, a 'stupid frog'."

Relief littered France's face as he replied, "Gladly."

America set the towel on the ground, and sat down on it as he allowed the sun's rays to warm up, and dry off his soaked body. For the first the time in quite a while, America was not ashamed of his 'bloated' stomach, nor his 'flabby' arms. As much as the young nation hated to be lectured, no matter how much he hated the so called corny quotes everyone seemed to through at him, for once he felt as if they actually helped.


End file.
